The Way It Was
by bammi1
Summary: An early look at a young Goren family
1. Chapter 1

The Way it Was 

For a little while, the marriage of Frank and Frances Goren was perfect. Frances was head over heels in love with her big handsome husband. God, he was good-looking! He had these sapphire blue eyes that made her melt every time he looked at her in that certain special way. So what if he had cheated while they were dating? It was only natural that girls would throw themselves at her handsome hunk. But now that they were married, things would be different. And even if Frank still had a roving eye, it was normal, he was a guy. All guys did that. She had all the confidence in the world that she could hold him, there was a reason that Frank had married _her_. For his part, Frank considered himself the luckiest guy in the world when he made the dark and exotic looking Frances his wife. She was definitely a looker with her dark wavy hair and big gorgeous brown eyes, and just an incredibly beautiful face. Not to mention a figure that just would not quit. He made a lot of guys unhappy when he married her, and he didn't hesitate to rub it in to them every chance he got. Just another way to build himself up in the eyes of his acquaintances.

Then, after about a year, little Frankie was born. It was a very easy birth, a relatively short labor for a first child, only seven hours. Frances was so happy, she had a beautiful baby boy—and she had maintained her figure, something most of her friends were unable to do after their pregnancies. This was very important to her.

Frank was a bit of an egotist, and both were so impressed with their new baby boy that they named him after them both. Big Frank looked lovingly at his wife and child. "Damn, honey, you did good!" he told her proudly. "I think he looks just like me, don't you think?"

Frances looked at her new baby, who was dozing comfortably in his mother's arms. "I think so, too," she said. "He'll be just like you, I know it."

Frank leaned in to her. "So when are we gonna be able to do it again?"

"Frank!" Frances laughed, feigning shock. "The doctor said we had to wait a few weeks, at least." She looked at him with those big doe eyes. "Aren't I worth waiting for?"

Frank was hugely disappointed. "Of course. It's just that…damn it, I missed you, y'know? You know how I love doing it with you."

"Well you're just going to have to wait." She knew she still had it, and it felt good to make him wait, to leave her husband craving and wanting her so badly. Frances was actually feeling a little smug, and Frank knew it. The only thing was, Frank wasn't into waiting. It had been a month now, and he didn't feel like waiting for his smug little wife. He was pissed. If she couldn't, or wouldn't, provide for him, he knew a certain little someone who would.

The night Frankie was born was the first time he cheated on her since they were married. It certainly wouldn't be the last. It was the start of a whole new side to the marriage of Frank and Frances Goren.

XXX

Little Frankie was close to two and a half (and the apple of his parents' eyes) when his mother became pregnant again. It surprised the hell out of big Frank—he and Frances had been doing a lot of fighting, and not a lot of making up. Sure, there had been that one time, and it only took one, but still…it was just not as likely as he would have hoped—if he had even wanted another child at all.

Frances was surprised too, and fearful. Surely this baby had to be her husband's…it couldn't possibly be Mark's…but God! What if it is? She had only been with Mark those few times…actually more then she had spent with her no good cheating husband, she thought with dismay. And the timing…_Oh God!_ If she was actually this far along… Well, no matter if it was or not, she was telling Frank it was his. She had no desire to set him off again.

The birth of little Bobby was quite a bit different from that of Frankie. Bobby was a bigger baby and had somehow become breeched, twenty hours of hard labor resulting in a Caesarian birth. Frances vowed never again. Not only had the birth been difficult, but the surgery marred her once perfect body. She was every bit the egotist her husband was, and couldn't help feeling a little resentment at the scarring the birth had caused to her figure. She was in pain physically, and little Bobby was restless—she was glad they took him back to the nursery at night.

Visiting his wife and new baby in the hospital, Frank looked down at the new little curly-haired baby, searching for any signs. Signs that this child might not be his.

"Do you want to hold him?" Frances asked. She wasn't exactly sure herself whose child it was, and was desperate to form a bond between father and son.

Frank refused. "He doesn't look like me at all," he stated. "Frankie looks like me."

"Well, one of them has to look like me," Frances said, hoping he would buy it. "And don't forget, babies change a lot. He could change and look like you--overnight."

_Only if his father looks exactly like me_, Frank thought bitterly.

XXX

Their first couple of weeks was a disaster. Frances and Frank were both stressed, and the baby seemed to pick up on the tension. Bobby seemed to never sleep. His sleep time seemed to consist of short thirty-minute naps, then he'd be awake, and crying. All night long. Frances didn't know what to do for him, or with him. Frankie had never been like this, little Frankie had been a perfect baby. Frank could remember having to wake little Frankie up to show him off to visitors. Not Bobby. This child never slept. Nothing seemed to work, Bobby and his parents were all up all night long. Both Frances and Frank were exhausted and even more on edge. They continued to fight all the time.

"Jesus Christ!" Frank said angrily, "Can't you shut that little fucker up?"

"I'm trying!" Frances said. "I've tried everything! Rocking him, feeding him, changing him—I don't know what else to do!"

"All I know is you better shut him up, or—"

"Or what?" Frances challenged. "What are you gonna do? Hit him again?!"

"What? I never--"

"Oh, don't even _try_ to deny it! I've seen it, when you think I'm sleeping, you hit him! It never helps, you know, it only makes him cry even more!"

"I only hit him on the ass! For Christ's sake! He has a goddamn diaper on, it didn't hurt him!"

"You don't know! And I've seen you hit him on the back, too! Hard! You could have hurt him!"

"That was an accident! I was mad! I meant to hit his ass. I was just trying to calm him down. All I know is I gotta get some sleep!"

Frances was upset. "What about me? I never get any sleep either, when am I supposed to get some sleep?"

Frank looked at her like she was a moron. "When the kids are asleep. Joe says that's when his wife sleeps."

Now Frances looked at him like _he _was the moron. "That's the point, Frank! He. Never. Sleeps!"

Bobby was in his crib, crying so hard that he wasn't taking any breaths. Frances grabbed him up, shaking him a little to make him take a breath. "Come on, Bobby, breathe baby…" Finally Bobby took a sobbing breath. She held him, bouncing him to try and soothe him. Little Frankie was awake now, and in their room, crying and upset that his Mommy and Daddy were fighting.

"Just great!" Frances screamed, as Frankie held on to her nightgown and Bobby continued crying in her arms. "Now look what you did! They're both awake."

"Christ!" Frank exploded. "You take care of them! I'm going downstairs, I gotta work in the morning!" He grabbed a pillow and was reaching for a blanket, when Frances shoved him unexpectedly with her free hand.

"Why can't you help out at all? You're the father!"

Frank snorted. He wanted so badly to tell her of his suspicions, that Bobby wasn't his. His pride wouldn't let him, however. How bad would it be if his friends found out this kid wasn't his? No one was going to know.

"And you're the mother! It's your job to take care of them."

"And what is your job, Frank? Shacking up with that little floozy? Or anything that even moves? Is _that_ your job?" She pushed him again.

It took everything Frank had in him not to hit her. "Fuck this!" Frank said. "I'm outta here." With that, he went down the stairs and out the door, with Frances screaming after him, calling him everything she could think of.

Crying, Frances worked her way over to the rocker, with Frankie still holding on to her. She sat down and pulled Frankie into her lap. After a while, Bobby quit crying, having exhausted himself, finally falling asleep, and Frances lulled Frankie back to sleep. She put them both back in their beds, then went to her own bed and shakily picked the phone up from the nightstand. God, she hoped he was home.

After a few rings, he picked up. "It's two a.m." he said gruffly, "**This better be good."**

"Hello, Mark?" she said, "Thank God you're in town!"

"Bambi?" Mark Brady was no longer concerned with being awakened. _Oh, yeah!_ _This __**will**__ be good!,_ he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

The Way It Was Chapter 2 

Forgot to say it first time around, but the usual disclaimer applies. The characters do not belong to me, they are owned by Dick Wolf and company.

Mark Brady was nothing, it not a charmer. He had somehow charmed his way into the lives of dozens of young women and mothers before Frances, and there would be dozens more after her. But right now she was his main focus. He had taken a special liking to her; he loved those big brown doe eyes of hers. He took his time making his way to the Goren home. Since she called him, she must be wanting it bad. They all did, there was just something about him.

There was something special about Bambi, too. Bambi…he realized he didn't even know her real name. But it didn't matter, what mattered was that she was a feisty little thing, a regular ball of fire. He had more fun with her on that one night than he'd had with those last 5 bitches put together.

He thought about the last night they'd had together…the night Kennedy got elected. She was all dressed up, like most everybody that night, but she was really styling. She was the best-looking broad in the place. He wasn't sure how she'd ditched her husband that night, all he knew was they'd had some kind of fight. Well, her husband's loss was his gain. As much as she was the life of the parties, she was every bit as feisty in the bedroom. They must have done it four or five times that night, and she probably would've gone for more. Unfortunately the night was over before either wanted it to be, leaving them each craving more. He was certainly looking forward to this little go-round with her.

As soon as he knocked on the door, Frances opened it quickly, looking around, and pulling him in.

"Well, aren't you the little anxious one?" he said with a smirk. God, he couldn't wait!

Frances smiled at him, she _was_ anxious. Anxious to get it on with him, and anxious to prove to her husband once again that he wasn't the only one who could get attractive members of the opposite sex. Mark was her kind of lover, a little rough, but with real staying power. Not that Big Frank couldn't hold up his end, he was great, too. She just liked a little variety, especially when Frank was out sniffing around for something young and tasty.

She was a little worried though, although her figure was excellent by most standards, she now had that damn surgery scar. And since she was nursing Bobby, her breasts were much larger in comparison to the rest of her body. Her body was no longer perfect. And she felt a tad bit resentful towards her new baby, the cause of it all.

"I just wanted to make sure my husband wasn't around," she lied.

He picked up on that right away, "Liar," he said. "You _want_ him to know I've been here. It's your little way of punishing him. But I personally don't care about your husband problems. All I care about is you."

Brady returned her smile. "You look beautiful…" he said, coming up behind her. Lifting her nightgown with one hand, with the other hand he cupped her full breasts. "So much bigger…" he murmured.

He didn't wait another minute before ushering her to the bedroom. There he took her nightgown all the way off, and she stood before him naked in all her glory. He couldn't help but notice the surgery scar, then the reason for the fuller breasts became clear.

"You had another baby."

Suddenly self-conscious, she reached for her gown. But he held it away from her. "Oh, no. You called me, we're going to play our little game. Besides," he kneaded her breasts harshly, "They are better than ever. I like 'em big like that. More to touch… to suck… You're still a beautiful woman, Bambi."

"You're not so bad yourself," she purred, unbuckling his belt, and taking him in her hand. Already he was responding to her, and this pleased her to no end. She thought she was special. She had no way of knowing she was only one of many.

His hands were all over her. Despite his roughness, she loved it, it had been a long time since a man had really made her feel wanted. Certainly her no-good husband never did. They made their way to the bed, where they stayed for the next couple of hours, barely coming up for air.. Brady was more than a little rough; Frances hurt, but it was worth it. Rough sex was Brady's way. A little pain was a small price to pay for great sex.

xxx

After a while, little Bobby was awake again, this time because he was hungry. They could hear the little noises he made in the minutes before the crying built up. Brady got curious and went to Bobby's crib.

"How old did you say he was?" he asked.

"He's almost two months," Frances answered distractedly.

Brady did some quick math, and grinned. "This little bastard is mine," he said.

Frances panicked. "No! Absolutely not! He's—"

"Bullshit! He's mine."

He reached down and picked Bobby up. Frances hurriedly got out of bed, and grabbed for her baby, but Brady held him up, out of her reach.

"Mark! Please…"

Brady laughed, and held Bobby higher.

"Mark, be careful! Please! You could drop him…"

Brady looked at her. "Don't worry, Bambi. I'm not going to hurt my own son…he is my son, right?"

"I—I don't know…" she said, reaching for Bobby.

Once again Brady held him out of her reach. "I said I wouldn't hurt _**my**_ son.Is he my son, Bambi?"

Frances' hands went to her face, and she nearly broke down. "Yes… I think. Even Frank thinks he's not his. But… there's no way to know for sure…"

Brady grinned. "You _**know**_," he said. "I'll ask you one more time…" Suddenly Bobby started crying, a very hurt and very sudden crying.

"Stop! Please! Don't hurt him…please…"

Brady waited for his answer.

"Alright…he's…he's yours."

Brady put the screaming baby back in his crib none too gently, and turned to Frances. "Undress him," he ordered.

"W—why?" she asked, frightened for her baby.

"I want to see what he looks like. Undress him."

"You can see what he—" At a look from Brady, Frances took off everything except his diaper. Frances started at the angry purple bruising on Bobby's leg. "What did you do to him?" she hissed.

"The diaper, Bambi, the diaper," he said warningly. "Never mind. I'll do it."

"No…" Frances started, going for Bobby. Brady stepped in front of her, and unpinned Bobby's diaper. No sooner had the diaper been released than Bobby peed, right in Brady's face.

"What the fuck?" Brady sputtered, as pee ran down his face. Despite her fear, she couldn't help laughing. Brady turned on her, murder in his eyes. Then he turned and picked up the still crying Bobby.

"Mark! Babies—boy babies—do that…" Frances backed away from him a few steps, trying to explain.

"Think it's pretty funny, huh?"

"Mark, he…he's probably hungry. Let me feed him…"

Brady leered at her, and suddenly agreed. "Okay," he said, "Feed him." Handing the crying baby over to her, he said, "Christ, look at him! He's got him a little whopper already!"

"Stop it! He's a baby!"

Brady stared at her. "Why don't you shut him up and feed him," he ordered. "Pop one of those newly big tits in his mouth and get this thing going?"

"I need my robe," she said, suddenly shy, but he wouldn't let her have it. "What if little Frankie comes in?" she pleaded.

"We'll just have to lock the door."

Frances was totally humiliated, but had no choice as Bobby screamed in hunger. His crying caused a reaction in her own body; she had to feed him. She picked him up and he immediately started rooting for her breast, like he was starving, and latching on greedily. She sat with him, unsuccessfully trying to hide herself from Brady.

Brady was fascinated, watching and listening to the baby's little sucking noises and gasps for air as he tried to feed and breathe at the same time. After watching a while, Brady went to his duffel bag and pulled out his camera and sketchbook, and started sketching. "I'll call this 'Mother and Child,'" he told her, like this was a common occurrence.

_And I'll call you a pervert_, Frances thought, but dared not say it.

Eventually Bobby was satisfied, and she put him back in the crib. He went to sleep easier this time, thanks to a full belly and the fact that he was still exhausted from his earlier crying. Thank God! Frances thought. She didn't need him crying all night making things worse. She wanted to enjoy this night with Brady, and Bobby was plain just in the way.

No sooner had she put Bobby back in his crib when Brady came up behind her, and fondled and cupped her breasts again. He maneuvered her back to the bed, still cupping her. "Now lets see what the big fuss with these is all about." Once in bed, he took her breast in his mouth, and began tasting her milk.

xxx

Brady stayed until morning, then got up, before Frances even stirred. They had both just actually fallen asleep. Brady didn't want to be here when Bambi's husband returned home. Not that he couldn't control the situation, he had no qualms about that. He just didn't need the headache. He went to the crib and looked down at little Bobby, who was awake and cooing and kicking in his crib. This was a beautiful baby, no doubt about it. He had eyes like his mother. But that was as far as the attraction for Bobby went. Brady had no more use for a kid than he did a permanent girlfriend. But maybe this kid could come in handy…he really did like Bambi, probably more than any other woman, and he wanted to keep things going with her for awhile. _What was it they said?_ he mused. Something about a cow and a calf. Well, he had them both.

"Do you know who's holding you?" he said, picking Bobby up again. "Your daddy, that's who." He ran his hands roughly over the baby's soft dark curls. "Don't worry, little boy, you're gonna see your daddy again. As long as Mommy's still playing the game, I'll be back. But when it's over, watch out."

Brady picked up his duffel bag and left quietly, if possible, even a little more cocky than when he came in. He knew he now had a son.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

The Way It Was Chapter 3 

One year later and the situation in the Goren family had not improved, if anything it had deteriorated. In spite of the fact that they still loved one another, Frances and Frank continued to cheat on each other. In an effort to get back at each other for real or imagined grievances, one was always trying to go one further than the other.

The children were either neglected or given too much attention. Bobby was still a restless baby at one year of age (his parents called him "hyper") while four-year-old Frankie continued to be the perfect child. The only difference now was that Frank, Sr. was no longer hiding his partiality between the two boys. He was very affectionate with Frankie, yet stern at times; he wanted to make sure Frankie grew up "right." But he rarely raised his hand to his son. Bobby, on the other hand, he didn't hesitate to discipline. As young as he was, his butt was always sore, while his legs sported the occasional welt. Frances was either too into her own problems to notice this, or chose to ignore it. Besides, it wasn't that often.

-x-x-x-

Frances Goren's affair with Mark Ford Brady continued on and off. Most of the time Brady was gone out of town, but whenever he was in town, he and Frances hooked up. On this particular occasion, Brady told Frances he wanted to party, like the night Kennedy had been elected. That experience had been the best either of them had had in years, and he wanted to replicate it.

But Frances had a problem. She wanted to go out with Brady and feel young and pretty and happy again. But there were her boys…she had to figure something out. Normally, her mother, Rose, who was older and not in the best of health, wasn't much help where the kids were concerned, but she was desperate.

"Mother, can't you take them for even one single weekend?" Frances pleaded with her mother. "I need a break, Mother, between the two of them—"

"Where's _Frank_?" her mother demanded. The way she said "Frank" made Frances cringe. "Let me guess: away on _business_."

"Yes," Frances said, unwilling to admit that her mother had been right about Frank. She could practically see the derision on her mother's face, and she definitely could hear it in her voice.

"What kind of _business _this week?" her mother continued. "Women? Or the horses? Maybe both? Doesn't matter, same effect." Rose, Frances' mother, had never cared much for Frank Goren. "I told you, long before you married him, that—"

"Mother! Please! Do we have to do this now? I just need you to take the boys!"

"Maybe if you hadn't jumped into some whirlwind marriage with him and married a decent man like I wanted you to, you wouldn't be having these problems now."

Frances closed her eyes. There was only one way to stop Rose once she got started. "I know, Mother, you were right. But it's too late now."

"I know. And look at you now, holed up in some rundown little rowhouse with two children you don't really need…" She loved her grandsons dearly, but knew Frances really did not need children with all her problems with her husband. It was a shame, they were such sweet children. They really deserved better.

"It would be fine, Mother, if you would just take the boys every so often so I could get a little break, I am going crazy!"

Rose thought about it. "Well, maybe Frankie…for a while."

"Why not Bobby?"

"Frances, you know I can't handle Bobby. I'm getting too old to care for a baby. And with your father being sick…"

Frances sighed. Bobby was the one she really needed taken off her hands. Frankie behaved fine. "Well it doesn't do much good to send Frankie if you don't take Bobby, too."

"Fine, if that's the way you want it…"

"No. No it isn't. Alright, just Frankie." One gone was better than none.

Frances hung up the phone and looked at her two boys. Frankie was playing with Bobby in the playpen. The only way Bobby would stay in that thing was if Frankie played in there with him. Otherwise he was always managed to get out somehow. She sighed again. She loved her little Bobby, but sometimes he was more than even she could handle. And he was only one year old.

She called Mark. "She'll only take Frankie…"

The silence was deafening. "Mark?" Frances held her breath, hoping he would still come.

"Yeah, I'm here, Bambi." There was a pause. Then, "It's alright. I'll take care of things. Bobby won't be a problem."

"I'm glad you think so…"

"I know so."

Frances had no idea what Brady was talking about, but chose to let it go, eager to let him handle things.

"Look, I'll see you in a few hours. Then we're going to party all night, then we're not gonna get out of that bed all morning."

She laughed, thinking he was kidding, and hung up. Brady, meanwhile, pulled a small flask down from his cabinet. He looked over his supply of liquor, and finally settled on his best vodka, clear and undetectable. Or at least it would be to Frances. "Only the best for my boy," he told himself

-x-x-x

When Rose arrived at the Goren home, Frances and the boys were outside. Frankie was on his tricycle, zooming back and forth in front of the house. Bobby was squirming in his mother's arms, anxious to get down and chase Frankie. Frances wasn't about to let him down, he'd be in the street in a second.

They all went inside, where Frances went into the bedroom to retrieve the little bag she'd made up for Frankie. Both Frankie and Bobby were all over their grandmother. And despite her disdain for Frank, Sr., she had to admit he fathered beautiful children. The boys looked somewhat alike, yet they were different. Frankie had striking blue eyes, like his father, his hair slightly wavy. Little Bobby had those beautiful dark curls that Rose had fallen in love with. And dark eyes and lashes a girl would kill for. She kissed Bobby's cherubic plump little cheek. "If you get any prettier…" she told him, kissing him as he kissed her, too.

Then Frances came out of the room with Frankie's bag. Rose stood up, putting both boys down. Frances knelt down by Frankie, and kissed him. "You be a good boy, Frankie, and have fun with Gramma."

"I will, Ma!" He kissed his mother, then his little brother, who tried his best to pull away, and took his Gramma's hand.

Frances took one more try at her mother. She picked Bobby up, facing his Gramma so she could see his sweet face. "Mother…?"

Rose sighed. "Frances, I told you, as much as I love him, I cannot handle Bobby. He's much too restless, and I cannot chase him around. I'm not as young as I used to be." With that, she kissed Bobby again and left with Frankie.

Frances put Bobby down hard in his playpen. "You can just figure on keeping your ass in there all day!"

Xxx

About an hour later, Brady arrived. Bobby was in his playpen, trying to climb out.

Brady reached out for him to lift him up, but Bobby pulled back, sitting down and refusing to look at Brady. Brady picked him up anyway, and Bobby squirmed so much that Brady put him back down, frowning. Frances was in the kitchen drinking coffee and just generally being in a foul mood. She had really hoped to do something with Brady this weekend. But Bobby being here ruined everything.

Brady nuzzled her neck, then fondled her breasts. "You stop breastfeeding him?" he asked, clearly disappointed in the new smaller size.

She turned on him, hurt and angry. "What do you think? He's a year old now! And he's got teeth!" she spat. "Just how long do you think I should breast feed? Till he's 12 years old?" She pushed him like she tried to push big Frank.

But Frances got angry at the wrong person. Brady suddenly grabbed her by the throat, and forced her into the bedroom. "You fucking bitch! You don't talk to me like that!" With that, he backhanded her across the mouth, knocking her onto the bed.

"I'm…sorry…" she croaked, but he was having none of it. Then he was on top of her, ripping off her top and bra. He stared down at her, and she didn't recognize the man behind the eyes.

"You think your little bastard has teeth? You don't know the half of it!" He suddenly dipped his head down, and took one of her nipples in his teeth, and bit. Hard. Frances cried out, and tried to get him off her. But he held her wrists, and bit her, over and over, bruising her badly. Brady finally gained control of himself, and stopped. Frances lay there, crying softly.

Brady got up. Then he said, "I'm sorry, Bambi. But you have to know, you can't piss me off like that. I don't like getting angry. Is that clear?"

Frances nodded, clearly frightened. She wanted to tell him to leave, but was too scared.

Brady went to the living room, where Bobby was crying and nearly out of the playpen. He was getting on Brady's nerves.

"Wasn't planning on starting this so soon, little man, but you have managed to change my mind." He went to the kitchen, and took a baby bottle filled with milk out of the refrigerator. He poured about a quarter of the milk out, and topped the rest with the vodka.

Returning to the living room, he layed Bobby down with the bottle. But Bobby wouldn't lay down, he kept getting back up. Finally Brady held him down, then held his head still and forced the bottle into his mouth. After one taste, Bobby started choking, and Brady was forced to let him go. But he was getting pissed. If this hadn't been his own kid…

At last Brady took the bottle again, and returned to the kitchen. He took the top off the bottle again, and loaded it with sugar, figuring that would take the bitterness out. He brought it back to Bobby, and watched as Bobby finally took the bottle.

He watched till the bottle was empty and Bobby tossed it to the side. Then Bobby tried to stand up, and fell over. He tried again, with the same result. Suddenly Brady started laughing.

"Bambi!" he called back to Frances, "Get out here and look at your kid!" When she didn't immediately appear he called her again, this time in a warning tone. "Get out here now!"

Frances reluctantly appeared, wearing her robe. She stood next to Brady and watched as her baby boy tried once more and again failed to stand.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked dully, still in a bit of a daze.

"Not a damn thing, darling. Not a damn thing." He chuckled, and didn't bother explaining to Frances that her one-year-old was drunk. Finally the last time Bobby fell, he just stayed down. His soft dark eyes slowly closed, then he went to sleep. Brady turned him onto his belly, then figured Bobby was fine, he'd sleep through to the next day. Brady's own mother had given him whiskey all the time to make him sleep. Bobby was no different, if it was good enough for Brady, it was good enough for his kid.

"Good night, Bobby," Brady said. "Pleasant dreams." He ruffled Bobby's hair. "Now, Bambi, we have all night, with no interruptions. Go get dressed. We're going out."

"But…Bobby—" Frances started.

"I said he was okay." Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. "Remember the night Kennedy got elected? We're going to relive that night tonight Get ready." Frances got ready. Despite the pain he had caused her, Frances forgave his brutality with her, once again falling under his spell. Brady and Frances went clubbing all night, not returning until the next morning. Then Brady told her he had to leave for a bit, something had come up.

Frances went to bed for a few hours, then awoke with a start, feeling uneasy about something. She went to the living room and watched for a while as Bobby slept, then decided something was wrong. Suddenly in a panic, she grabbed him up and tried to wake him, jostling him roughly. At last Bobby woke up, lashes fluttering, his eyes momentairily rolling back into his head and immediately threw up, on himself, on her. He was horribly sick. Frances had no idea what was wrong with him, he cried non-stop and vomited continuously. She had no way of knowing that Bobby was suffering from an overdose of alchohol and a hangover in his one-year-old body. All she knew was that he was crying again and wouldn't stop.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" she screamed at him, shaking him. Her screaming frightened him and he began crying even harder. She looked at him, exasperated, screamed again, and stormed off to her bedroom. Once in her room, she ripped off the clothes her baby had vomited on, replacing it with her robe. Then she threw herself on her bed, and suddenly broke down and cried bitterly. She felt terrible, screaming at her baby. Bobby was a restless baby, always had been, and yes, he was difficult. A lot more difficult than Frankie had ever been. But he was her baby.

She went back out and picked him up. "What is wrong with you?" she asked again. "Why do you do this to me?" she cried, the tears building up in her eyes again. "Why do you make me feel this way? So crazy?!" She pulled his head down to her chest, and her tears rolled down her cheeks and into his curls. "Why couldn't you have just been more like Frankie?"

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

The Way It Was Chapter 4 

Frances was starting to worry. Something was wrong with Bobby. The little one-year-old cried continuously (usually it was when he was supposed to sleep), but now he would not stop at all. And he kept throwing up.

She was both frightened and frustrated. "Stop it!" she shrieked at him. He jumped, his breath catching in his throat, and then screamed louder both in fear and pain. "Stop it!" she screamed again, and shook him. He threw up again.

Frances picked up the phone frantically and dialed her mother's number. "Come on, answer!" she said into the phone. At last someone picked up, it was her father.

"Dad? Where's Mother?"

"Frances, what's wrong? Honey, what's wrong? Is it the baby?"

"Dad, there's something wrong with Bobby! Where's Mother?"

"Your mother's already on her way there. Now calm down. What is wrong with the baby?"

"He won't stop crying, and he's throwing up!"

Her father sighed, they were always getting calls from her about Bobby crying and not sleeping. But this throwing up business…he didn't like that.

He spoke to her in a calm and soothing voice. "If he's as bad as you say, Frances, then you need to call an ambulance and get him to the hospital right away. If not—"

There was a sharp rapping at the door. "She's here, Dad, I gotta go." She quickly hung up the phone and ran to open the door.

"Mother, hurry! Something's wrong with Bobby!" Rose dropped the packages she had been carrying, and followed her daughter into her bedroom.

Upon reaching the crib, Rose looked down in shock at her little curly-haired grandson. He was lying down in his crib (something he rarely did, he was always clamoring to get out) and crying softly now. There was vomit all over the crib.

"Frances! How long has he been like this?" She reached down and picked him up. Frances stared at her mutely; she had no idea.

"Frances!"

"I…I don't know, Mother. He was like this when I got ba…ck." Frances knew she just blew it, now her mother would know.

"We've got to get him to the hospital right away!" Rose started, then suddenly Bobby stopped crying, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he started trembling violently.

"Oh my God! Frances, he's convulsing! Call an ambulance!"

Frances quickly picked up the phone and called for an ambulance.

Xxx

Frances, Rose and Frankie waited anxiously for news of Bobby. Frankie kept asking why Bobby was so sick, and what the doctors were doing to him. All he was told was "be quiet Frankie, he'll be okay."

At last the doctor, a heavy set and balding older man in his sixties arrived, accompanied by a nurse. He did not look friendly at all.

"Mrs. Goren?" Frances jumped up. "Where's my baby? Is he okay? When can I take him home?"

"You won't be taking him home, Mrs. Goren," Doctor Monroe said. Frances and Rose looked shocked, and Rose said softly, "Oh my God…"

Realizing they both thought the worst, the doctor quickly said, "I'm sorry, I meant at least not tonight."

"What…do you mean?" Frances asked.

"Maybe we should talk over here," the doctor said, taking in the very attractive mother. Once alone, he made no secret of checking her out, eyeing her from head to toe and back again. He made Frances very uncomfortable

"Mrs. Goren, do you know how close you came to killing your baby?"

"WHAT?!!"

"We pumped what was left of your baby's stomach contents. There was alcohol in it."

"No…" Frances said, bewildered. "That can't be…"

"Your child is experiencing the effects of an adult hangover, only on a much larger scale. He is physically sick, appears to be in a lot of pain, and convulsing. The convulsing, thankfully, we currently have under control." He paused for a moment, staring at her. "We have a social worker on staff. I'm sure she'll agree that your baby should be removed from your home."

"No…please…" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I don't understand…"

Doctor Monroe wouldn't let up. "He's obviously been abused. I couldn't help noticing the bruises on his legs and butt…"

"He's a baby! He's going to have bruises, he's just learned to walk…he's always bumping into things, falling down…"

"And the alcohol?" The doctor looked very skeptical.

"I…I fell asleep," Frances lied, unable to come up for a reason for Bobby's illness. "Maybe his father left one of his bottles of booze laying around…Bobby's always getting into things."

"I should report this…"

"No, please…" Frances pleaded with him. "What can I do to… convince you not to…do this?"

The doctor looked again at Frances. She was really attractive, and those eyes…"Should your baby is removed from your home he would be sent to one of those institutions…do you know what they do to children in those places?"

"Oh God!"

"Well, maybe we could work it out." He looked at her suggestively. "Talk about it—proper child care, I mean—maybe have a little lunch in my office…and maybe after that we'll see about getting your baby released sometime tomorrow. If he is okay, I mean."

Frances knew immediately what he had in mind. "I could report_** you**_ for this!" She said, furious.

Doctor Monroe shrugged. "Your word against mine. But I have real proof of your neglect—right in there in that crib."

Frances was furious. "I want to see your superior. Now. Or in a second I'm going to start screaming. See who they believe then!"

"Hold on a minute! All right! We'll…I'll…"

Frances was very strong, outwardly, dealing with this doctor. Inwardly she was scared to death. She hoped to God her threat would work. She may have stepped out on big Frank, but at least it was of her own choosing. This…she shuddered. "I want to see my baby."

"Of course," Doctor Monroe said, showing her the way. He was now the one on the defensive.

He took her to the children's ward, where there were a number of steel cribs in rows. The cribs all had bars on top, making the cribs virtually steel cages, just tall enough for possibly a three-year-old to stand up.

Frances' breath caught in her throat at the sight of the babies, especially her own, in these cribs. Bobby was standing up, again trying to climb out. This time he would not succeed.

"I know it looks bad, but it's for their own good. This way there's no chance of a child falling out of his crib."

Spotting his mother, Bobby started to cry for her, his little arms outstretched outside the bars. "Mama!" he cried, over and over.

Monroe led her back out of the ward, to the distant sounds of little Bobby's cries. "Remember what I told you," he warned her, trying to get in the last word, "It's a lot worse in those state run institutions. Next time you _will_ be reported,

Xxx

That night at supper big Frank never even noticed that Bobby wasn't there until Frankie mentioned it. "So where is the little shit?" he asked.

"Hosipal," Frankie answered.

Frank looked at Frances. "What'd he say? Hospital?"

"Bobby got really sick today and had a convulsion. Mother and I took him to the hospital."

"So is he okay?"

"They think so. They're keeping him overnight to make sure."

"Well, that's just great Frances! Any idea how we're going to pay for this?"

"Your…your insurance…"

"The damn insurance lapsed Frances!"

"But…"

"I told you."

"No you didn't, you bastard! You lost the insurance money at the track, didn't you?"

"You bastard, you bastard," Frankie repeated in a sing song voice. Frank smacked him in the mouth, the first time he ever hit Frankie. Frankie started to cry and hid behind his mother, hanging on to her.

"So what now, Frank?" she demanded, her focus entirely on her deadbeat husband.

"I don't know…they keep him?" Frank chuckled. Frances didn't think it was so funny, and let him know it. After a while Frank thought about leaving again. He had a new girlfriend who he knew would treat him right.

xxx

The next day Frances called the hospital. To her great relief, they deemed Bobby well enough to go home. Once at the hospital, she was scared to death of running into Doctor Monroe and him possibly wanting to try again for another "talk." As luck would have it, he came into the children's ward just as Frances was dressing Bobby to go home, and spotted her. She cringed.

But he never approached her, and a nurse soon appeared. "Here are Bobby's at-home instructions," she said, rather coldly. This nurse could not understand why this woman had been allowed to get away with endangering her child, this beautiful little boy, and made no attempt to hide her feelings.

From across the room, Monroe stared at her for a second, then completely ignored her, as if none of what they'd done had mattered at all. And it hadn't, to him. This made her angry too.

She took Bobby and placed him in the front seat of the car in his car seat. She was still very angry about the whole situation, and talked to herself and by default Bobby all the way home, basically blaming him for everything. One-year-old Bobby had no idea what she was saying, but he could sense the tension. He cocked his curly little head just slightly, trying to understand, and in his soft little voice kept saying "Mama" over and over.

That night, Frank and Frances got into it again. Frank was on the floor with Frankie when Bobby toddled over to join in with them. Frank put his knee out, stopping him and causing him to fall on his butt. It didn't hurt him, not with the thick diaper, and Bobby got up and tried again. Frank impatiently swooped him up and put him in the playpen, not wanting Bobby bothering him while he played a little with Frankie.

Frances watched narrowing her eyes, then said, "Just for once, couldn't you just _**pretend**_ to like him?"

Frank's pride still couldn't get over the fact that that Bobby probably wasn't his, but he still wouldn't admit it. He just shrugged. "I do like him," he said very nonchalantly.

"He _**is**_ your son, you know, whether you believe it or not—"

"Knock it the hell off Frances! We've both played around, don't try to act so innocent. You just happened to be the one who got stung!"

Her irritability turned quickly to rage. "Well just so you know, Bobby got into one of _**your**_ whiskey bottles you left lying around!" She wanted to make him feel guilty and hurt him bad. "You could have killed him! That's what made him so sick!"

Frank stared at her in amazement. He shook his head. "Jesus, Frances! You really are a crazy bitch, you know that?" And although he had no idea of what was to come, he said the words which would prove to be so prophetic. "Can't wait to see you in five years!"

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

The Way it Was Chapter 5 

Bobby Goren could hardly sleep, he was so excited. Tomorrow was his fourth birthday, and he was having his first birthday party ever. And later, although a little young, to his first baseball game.

Over the last two years things in the Goren home hadn't changed much. Frances and Frank Goren continued to both love and cheat on each other. The fighting still continued, and Frank still gambled and took off every chance he got. Little Frankie still remained the apple of his parents'eyes, although he got in trouble occasionally, while Bobby was just... there. He didn't get a lot of attention, most of that was reserved for Frankie.

Big Frank was a huge Yankees fan, one of the few things he shared with his sons. He had already taken seven year old Frankie to a few games, while Bobby, at nearly four, and being a precocious child, already knew the rules, and could name all the members of the entire 1965 Yankee team, including the coaches. This impressed even Frank, who promised for his birthday he would take him to a game. His first game! He was so excited, this would be his best birthday ever. Tomorrow he would be four years old. Then he would be a big boy. And finally could go someplace special, a Yankee game, with his dad.

The next day, however, Bobby's birthday, didn't start off very well.

Frank was supposed to go to work while Frances had the kiddie party during the day. But having a hangover from the night before he called in sick. He had no intention of spending the day listening to a bunch of screaming four and five year olds, though. He went out and bought another case of beer, intending to spend the rest of the day holed up in his room.

By the time Frank made it home the party was in full swing. Even the grandparents were there. Bobby was allowed to invite four boys and four girls, plus Frankie could have one friend over. The girls were chasing the boys, trying to kiss them. The boys were determined not to allow that to happen. And Frank was right, there was a lot of screaming and giggling by the girls, and yelling and laughing by the boys.

One little girl in particular, Christina, chased and followed Bobby the whole time. She was an older woman, five and a half years, to his four.

Christina went up to where Frances and Rose were setting up the cake. Very solemnly Christina told them, "Bobby is my boyfriend. He's the cutest boy in the whole world!" Frances and Rose both laughed. "He certainly is!" Rose said.

Bobby, however, being a typical little boy, was having none of it. He was doing his best to avoid her. When she finally cornered him and bent in to kiss him, Bobby closed his eyes and scrunched up his face in anticipation of the dreaded kiss.

The girls were all fascinated, all thought Bobby was so cute, and the boys were laughing and hooting "cooties!" Bobby turned red, and scrubbed at his face furiously to rid himself of the kiss, but that didn't deter Christina.

Frances watched as her boys played. She hadn't seen them so happy in a long time. Bobby ran up to her, all smiles, "Ma, can we open the presents now?" he asked.

"Of course, honey. Come on kids, Bobby's going to open his presents now!" Frances brought Bobby, who suddenly turned shy, into the center of the room. Then put all the presents around him. Somehow Christina managed to wiggle her way right next to Bobby. Bobby kept moving further away from her, but Christina just moved right along with him..

"Can I help you open your presents, Bobby?" she asked sweetly. Bobby nodded shyly. One of Bobby's favorite presents came from his grandparents, who gave him books. "For my little grandson who is already reading." Rose said, kissing him, and his grandfather ruffled his hair.

Everything was going along fine until the knock at the door. Frances went to answer, and there on the steps stood Mark Brady.

"What are you doing here?!" she hissed at him, looking around quickly to make sure Frank wasn't watching.

"It's Bobby's birthday," Brady said, looking around Frances to seek out Bobby. He was holding a gift, a metal Tonka truck with a ribbon around it.

"No! Just leave! My husband is home!"

Suddenly Frankie appeared beside Frances. "Hi'ya Uncle Mark!"

"Hi, Frankie. Get your brother."

Frankie eyed the gift in Brady's hand. "Are you here for Bobby's birthday?" Without waiting for an answer Frankie turned and yelled, "Bobby! Uncle Mark's here, and he's got a big present for you!"

As luck would have it, Frank chose that moment to use the bathroom. As Bobby started for the door, Frank overtook him, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him back. Then he went to the door as Frances held her breath.

"Uncle Mark, is it?" Frank asked evenly.

Frances started to introduce Brady as the handyman, but Frank interrupted. "Is that for my boy?" He indicated the gift, reaching for it.

"It's for Bobby," Brady acknowledged, handing it over.

"Thanks, I'll see that he gets it." Frank said sarcastically, and slammed the door in Brady's face. Then he glared at Frances and Frankie, and headed back to his room, nearly knocking Bobby over in the process.

Bobby knew the look on his father's face, and suddenly all the fun went out of the party for him.

Rose went to Frances. "Is everything okay? Who was that man?"

"Just an old friend," Frances sighed. Everything was going downhill from here on in. "Can you help me with the cake so we can get this party over with?"

As everyone sat around the table singing "Happy Birthday" Bobby sat there with a glum look on his face. And when it came time to blow out his candles, he still sat there, refusing. Finally Frankie blew them out. Rose and Frances dished out ice cream and cake, and soon the party was over.

As the kids' parents came to pick them up, Christina made one last attempt to kiss Bobby. This time he didn't even try to get away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sometime later, after all the guests had gone, Frank came out of his room, seeking Bobby.

"Let's go, Bobby," Frank said, slightly unsteady on his feet. "In your room. I wanna talk to you."

Bobby stopped dead in his tracks. A "talk" in his room usually meant one thing—a beating.

"Frank--" Frances started, but the look Frank gave her made her stop and look away.

"Bobby. Let's go."

"Ma?" Bobby looked to his mother, who refused to look at him.

Then Frankie piped up, "Dad, are you gonna hit Bobby?"

Frank stopped and looked at him. "Now why would I hit Bobby?"

"I dunno. Cause."

"Cause why? What did Bobby do?"

"Frankie!" Frances said. "Go out and play."

"Is Dad gonna hit Bobby?"

"No! Of course not! He just wants to talk to him. Now go on outside."

Frankie looked again at his father and brother, then went outside.

Once Frankie had left, Frances turned once again to Frank. "Frank, I don't what you're thinking about Mark and me, but it is not Bobby's fault!"

"Stay out of this, Frances," Frank warned. "Bobby, I'm not going to tell you again." He took a big swig of his beer. "IN YOUR ROOM!"

After a last imploring look at his mother, which she chose to ignore, Bobby scooted past his father into his room, where he waited for whatever was to come. Frank came in, staring at Bobby, kicking the door closed behind him with his foot, nearly losing his balance in the process. Tears came to Bobby's eyes. "I'm sorry Daddy," he said in his soft little voice.

"What are... you... sorry for?" Frank asked.

"I...dunno..." Bobby had no idea what he was in trouble for, just that he was very scared right now. A tear trickled down his cheek.

"Are you crying, Bobby?" Frank sneered. "Cry--I'll give you something to cry for." Immediately Bobby snuffled up, trying to stop the tears and the now runny nose.

Frank held out the truck Brady had given Bobby. "Did Mr... Brady give this to you?" Frank was slurring his words badly.

Bobby nodded. "Unca Mark."

Upon hearing Bobby say those words, Frank went into a rage and threw the truck at the window, shattering it and sending glass flying everywhere. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, and put his arms over his head, trying to block out his fear and protect himself.

"Don't you _ever _take anything Uncle Mark gives you!" He grabbed Bobby by the front of his shirt. "Do you understand me?!"

Bobby nodded, too scared to even speak.

"What else did he give you?" Without waiting for a reply, he said, "You get everything 'Uncle Mark' ever gave you! Bring it to me!"

Again Bobby nodded, hurrying to the closet and brought out about five different toys. Frank took a glider plane and broke it in half. Then he took all the rest and broke each one of them. "Is that it? Is there any more?"

"Y-yes," Bobby stammered, and went back to his closet. He came back with a baseball autographed by most of the Yankee team. It was his favorite thing Uncle Mark had given to him. His hand trembled as he held it out to his father.

"Did you lie to me Bobby?" Frank said, grabbing him by his arm and jerking him as he took the ball from Bobby's hand. He put his face right up to Bobby's. The alcohol coming from his breath was all Bobby could smell. "Trying to hide this from me?"

"No...no..."

"Liar! I'll teach you to lie to me!" Frank grabbed him by his arm again, hurting him, but was so drunk couldn't hold on to him, and Bobby moved out of his reach. Frank started to take off his belt and Bobby panicked.

"Don't even think you can get away from me!" He grabbed for Bobby but missed him and fell. And Bobby was fast, scooting under the bed, pressing himself against the wall. Frank became enraged.

"Get out here, you little bastard! You're only making it worse Bobby! Come here!" Bobby wasn't about to come out. He pressed himself even flatter against the wall. Frank kicked the bed over and over, screaming at him. Again Bobby shut his eyes and held his ears as tight as he could. He was terrified.

Had Frank been sober he would have had no trouble getting to Bobby. As it was, he was in no condition to chase a four year old, especially one as resourceful as Bobby.

After a while he gave up. "You stay in this room all night! And no supper! You so much as come to that door and I'll bust your ass. You hear me?" Bobby refused to answer and Frank kicked the bed again. "And you can forget that ballgame!" If Bobby hadn't been crying before, he was now.

Frank picked up the broken toys and staggered into the kitchen where Frances sat chain smoking. He took the broken toys and put them in the trash.

"Tell your god damned lover to stay away from Bobby. He comes near Bobby and I swear to God I'll knock that kid into next week." He held up the ball. "Nice. I can probably pick up a few bucks for this at the track," he sneered.

"Is...he okay?" Frances asked.

"What do you care? You couldn't even be bothered to protect him." He knew that would get to Frances since she herself was afraid of Frank. And though she wanted to protect Bobby, she was more worried about herself.

"You bastard!"

"No, Frances. _Bobby_ is the bastard."

"Frank," she whispered, " he's only four years old. It's not his fault!"

Frank shrugged. "Maybe. But he's the result."

Frances got up, and started to go to Bobby.

"Leave him alone, Frances. He's alright. I never touched him. My dad gave me a lot worse than that. I never even touched him," he repeated.

"Whatever your father gave you I'm sure you deserved!" she shot back.

"Don't go in there, I'm warning you. He's in bed for the night. And no supper, either. And just so you know," he lied, "I didn't punish him because of Brady, I punished him for lying to me."

"Like you're doing now? No you didn't. You punished him to get back at me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, after Frank left, Frances was finally able to go to Bobby. Despite the heat, he was lying under the covers, the only part of him that was visible were his dark curls. Frances gently took the covers off. Bobby was still in yesterdays disheveled clothes, lying on his stomach. He woke as his mother gently lifted him up, but he struggled against her. "Bobby, c'mon, honey..."

"Daddy said no!" Bobby said.

"What do you mean, Daddy said no?"

"Daddy said I can't get up, I hafta stay here till he says so."

"It's okay, Daddy told me you could get up."

Bobby wasn't sure, but he did as his mother said. "Daddy said to go to sleep..."

"It's okay. Did Daddy hurt you?"

And even though his arm was bruised and hurting, Bobby shook his head. "I'm big now, Mommy. I'm four."

"I know you are honey," she said, kissing his head. But Frances cried, looking at her little boy. She pulled him to her, hugging him and crying. "Bobby, I'm so sorry!"

Bobby was confused now, His mother hadn't hurt him, his father had. "It's okay, Ma, don't cry." He couldn't stand to see his mother cry. "Mommy, don't cry, Mommy. Please."

She nodded and wiped her tears. "Okay, let's get you some breakfast. Bet you're pretty hungry, huh?" Bobby nodded, he was very hungry, having had no supper the night before.

As Bobby sat watching his mother cook he said, "Ma?"

She turned to him, "Yes?" She'd never seen such sad eyes on any child. "What, Bobby?"

"Ma? Why doesn't Daddy love me?"

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

The Way It Was Chapter 6 

"Ma?" Bobby's big brown eyes had never looked sadder. "Ma? Why doesn't Daddy love me?"

Frances sat at the table near Bobby. "Daddy does love you, Bobby." She felt bad for him. Frank had gotten totally drunk the night before, and still angry about Brady had thrown out or broken a few more of Bobby's presents, the few he'd left on the floor when he fell asleep.

Bobby pouted.. "Then why does he hit me 'alo time?"

"Because sometimes you're a bad boy, Bobby. That's why Daddy hits you, to teach you."

"Why does he hafta teach me?" Bobby was persistent. "Why did he throw my toys away?" His dark eyes welled up with tears.

"Why ? Why do you ask so many questions? Why? I told you, you don't behave." She was starting to become impatient with the four year old and all his questions. "Eat your breakfast."

After a few bites Bobby wasn't hungry anymore, and continued to play with the bowl. Frances turned to him.

"EAT!" she said angrily, startling him. His arm hit the bowl which went flying off the table, hitting on the hard floor and breaking, splattering the oatmeal all over. Bobby looked at it in horror, then up at his mother.

"I'm...s—sorry..." Bobby started.

"Clean it up!" she yelled, dragging him off the chair. "I don't care how you do it, but clean it up!"

Bobby looked from his mother to the oatmeal, and back again. Then he ran to the sink and grabbed a dishcloth, scraping up as much of the oatmeal as he could, along with the broken glass. Seconds later, he cried out, as the broken glass cut his finger. He stood up, holding his cut left hand with the other. Blood was running down his arm, and he looked anxiously at his mother. "I'm sorry..."

Frances sighed. "You're always sorry! If you'd just behave you wouldn't have to be sorry all the time! Now look at this mess! Frankie cleans up his messes."

She picked him up and carried him to the sink, running water over his hand, pulling the cut apart to see how bad it was, then roughly cleaning it. It was a fairly deep cut, and as she examined it, Bobby started squirming. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow---"

"Stop it, Bobby! I can't see anything with you moving like that. You're not hurt that bad."

Bobby thought differently. "It hurts, Mommy!"

She wrapped a dish rag around his finger. "Of course it does! Because you can't do anything right! Now go sit in your room and calm down. I guess I'll have to clean up your mess again!"

Bobby just stood there, tears running down his cheeks. "You're just lucky your father isn't here. If he saw you crying..." Pushing him off in the direction of his room, she said, "I should probably take you to the hospital for stitches, but thanks to your father—again--there's no money for that. Just keep that rag around it."

Before he left, in an effort to assure himself of his mother's love, Bobby tried to hug his mother as best as he could while trying to hold the rag around his finger. "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you too-- Bobby, you got blood on my robe! Please just go to your room," she said, frustrated.

Once in his room, Bobby couldn't calm down. His finger was hurting, so he just kept moving, unknowingly trying to keep his mind off it. He left the room he shared with his brother, to see where his mother was. She was finally sitting down, obviously agitated, lit a cigarette, and started to watch her game show. Before long, she was asleep. Luckily, she had finished her cigarette.

Bobby walked very quietly past his mother, trying not to disturb her, and out the front door. He sat on the steps for a few minutes, his finger throbbing, watching all the different people. After a while he got up and started walking to the playground. He knew he wasn't supposed to be this far from home, but rarely was anyone actually keeping track of him, and he was already here. He was actually excited, he'd never been here by himself. Every once in a while he'd follow Frankie here, but Frankie didn't like his baby brother hanging around.

Once there he started looking for Frankie, even though he knew Frankie would tell him to get lost.

He didn't see Frankie, but he did see another kid who seemed to be closer in age. He was a skinny kid, with straight black hair and black glasses. He was playing in the sandbox with his little cars.

Bobby stood there for a moment, watching, then he walked over to the sliding board, climbing the ladder and stopping at the top. From this perch he watched the other boy. He was undecided if he should go over to him, he might just be like Frankie and chase him away, too.

_Gotta stay here by myself_, little Bobby thought, staring longingly at the little cars the boy was playing with in the sand.

Then his attention was caught by some bigger boys coming up behind the black haired boy. They did not look nice, the biggest one, a redheaded boy of at least six years, jumped into the sandbox and straightened up threateningly.

Bobby swallowed. _Just like Frankie._ He slid down, and he walked over to the sandbox.

"Hey, those are some cool cars," the redhead said, taking a car right out of Lewis' hand.

"Those are mine!" Lewis said. "Give it back!"

The bigger boy laughed. "Whose gonna make me, you little four-eyed freak?" He took a step towards Lewis, and he backed up. All the boys laughed now, and started pushing Lewis around. They kept pushing and laughing, getter ever closer.… but someone stepped in their way. Incredulously they stared at the curly-haired little stranger.

Bobby stared up at the redhead, feeling an unfamiliar strength and courage build inside him. "Give it back!" he demanded

For another second they just stared at him, then they burst out into laughter.

"Get out of my way," the bully grumbled, shoving Bobby aside.

Another of them made a threatening move to Bobby, too. Then the redhead grabbed Lewis, pulled off his glasses, and knocked him down. Then he stepped on Lewis' glasses, breaking them.

Bobby, suddenly feeling even more protective of Lewis, ran right into the boy attacking him, catching him off guard and knocking him down. Then Bobby, who'd been beat up enough times by Frankie, took what he learned from that and punched the boy in the nose. The boy's nose started bleeding, and it scared him and he cried. Bobby turned to another boy, only to find out they were all on him. Then the boy with the bloody nose was on Bobby in a second, pounding him good, while the other boys laughed, at both Bobby and the fact that Bobby had given the bigger kid (who'd never live it down) a bloody nose. Lewis couldn't see very well, but he knew they were hurting Bobby. They might have hurt Bobby worse, but Lewis' mother came running up, and the bigger boys ran off with two of Lewis' cars, and taunting the two little boys.

Lewis' mom checked Lewis over, making sure he was okay, then she turned to Bobby, who by now had picked himself up.

"Well, if you aren't something," she said, having seen what happened. She checked him over, too, still fussing over Bobby, who was okay except for his own bloody nose.

"Look!" he said excitedly to Lewis. "I got it back!" He shyly held out one of Lewis' cars that the redhead had taken, then gave it to him.

Surprised, Lewis took it, mumbling "Thanks." Then he stared after those boys and said, "They were mean."

Bobby nodded.

Lewis' mother smiled down at both boys. "You should be proud of yourself," she said, "helping Lewis like that. There's a lot of courage in you, little man."

Embarrassed Bobby turned an adorable shade of crimson but smiled bashfully up at her.

"Just like a policeman," Lewis said, holding up a model patrol car.

Bobby grinned. _Wow, like a policeman, _he thought, eyeing the patrol car. Then his gaze drifted down to the other cars. "Those are pretty neat."

Lewis looked up proudly. "I know. I got 'em for my birthday."

"I had a birthday, too. But Daddy threw some of my stuff out."

The boy looked at him strangely. "Why?"

"Dunno," Bobby said, already forgetting about his toys as he looked at the little cars.

"Wanna play?" Lewis asked.

"'K," Bobby said. "We could make a road, make it go--"

"Hold on a moment," Lewis' mom stopped them, taking hold of the little brown eyed boy with the longish curls. She thought that he was adorably cute.

"What'd you do to your finger?" she asked, seeing the rag around Bobby's finger that was still bleeding.

"Cutted it," Bobby said. "It's okay, but Ma got mad at me. I made a big mess."

"I'm sure it'll be okay. Come here, I'll fix it for you."

But Bobby shook his head.

She had a closer look at the injured finger and immediately said to her son, "Lewis, go to the car and get my first aid kit." Then to Bobby, "Honey, what did you do?"

Bobby, being shy, wouldn't look at her. "Nothin'." he said softly, staring at his feet..

"Sweetie, do you have a name?"

Bobby just continued to stare down.

As Lewis came running back with the first aid kit, she said, "Lewis, do you know his name?" Lewis shrugged. "Honey, I know you have a name. Would you tell me? Please?"

"Bobby," he said so softly she had to strain to hear him.

"Bobby. That's a nice name. Where's your mother, sweetie?" she asked, looking around.

Bobby refused to say anymore, and remembering his mother's rough treatment of his finger, resisted getting his finger fixed. But Lewis' mother took control, and managed to stop the bleeding and bandage his finger.

"Now when you go home, have your Momma look at it, okay?"

Bobby nodded, but had no intention of letting his mother look at it

At last Lewis' mother went back to her bench, reading her book, and the boys took off for the sandbox and cars again. They both jumped in, landing on their knees, as little boys do. The boys played together for a while, hardly speaking, just an occasional grin at the other, and ramming their cars at each other and laughing. Bobby was having a really good time. Being away from his parents he didn't have to be careful about what he did, he could just be a little boy.

Just before they left the playground and walked off in different directions the two boys looked at each other and said in unison: "see ya tomorrow?" Both boys nodded.

"Lewis, looks like you found a friend," said his mom, kissing her little son.

"Yes, my best friend ever," Lewis declared with the cute seriousness of a four-year-old.

_A friend!_ Bobby's heart was beating excitedly as he ran home. He couldn't wait to tell Frankie. Bobby had his first real friend..

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

The Way It Was

Chapter 7

A/N Thanks everyone, for your reviews! Appreciate them. And thanks to Roadrunner for her thoughts and comments on writing this chapter.

At the tender age of four and a half, little Bobby was already hyper-vigilant. Bobby woke up every morning listening. Listening to hear if his parents were arguing. This morning when he listened, he heard nothing. It was safe to get up.

He padded into the kitchen in his bare feet, still sleepy, looking for his mother. She wasn't in the kitchen, so he went to her bedroom. The door was closed and he walked in. "Mommy?"

She was looking in the mirror, applying makeup, and sighed. "What, Bobby?"

"I'm hungry."

She turned to him. "Are your arms broken?"

Bobby looked at his arms, thoroughly confused, then back at his mother. "No, Mommy..."

"Then make your own breakfast. You're big enough to get a bowl down and make a bowl of cereal. I'm busy." She turned back to the mirror.

"Mommy?"

"What?" She sounded a little exasperated.

"It's too heavy."

"What is? Bobby, just...go make your breakfast."

When Bobby didn't move, she turned to him. "Bobby! Go!"

Bobby pouted, but turned back to the kitchen. He hated making his own breakfast, the milk container was too heavy, and sometimes he spilled it. But he climbed up on the counter and got a bowl, then the corn flakes. Not wishing to spill the milk and get in trouble, he ate it dry.

Frances came into the kitchen, all made up and ready to go shopping. Bobby thought his mother was beautiful. She gave him a quick kiss. "Now listen, Bobby. You have to be good. Your father is gone, but Frankie is here. You're going to be here by yourselves, but I'll be right back, okay? I'm just going to get a new dress, I won't be long. Listen to your brother and just play in your room. And don't leave your room." Then she was gone.

Bobby didn't go to his room, but turned the tv on and lay down in front of it. A little later, Frankie came in and laid on the couch. After a while he said, "This is stupid." He went over and changed the channel.

"Hey!" Bobby said. He tried to change it back, but Frankie pushed him away, then put his fist up. "Wanna do something about it, baby?" he taunted him.

"I'm not a baby!" Bobby said loudly. He hated being called a baby, and Frankie knew it. He wanted to do something about it, but so far he had not won a fight with his big brother yet. So he turned and went into the bedroom, where he dressed himself, tying his own shoes, something he'd learned quite a while ago, and was very proud of it.

He ran past Frankie and was out the door. Frankie watched him go, but didn't bother with him.

Bobby soon found himself at the playground again, his new favorite place. He pretty much went there everyday, it was a lot more fun than at home, where something was always going on. Right away, he looked for Lewis. Lewis wasn't there everyday, but he was today. They had gotten to be great friends, no longer shy with each other. Sometimes they jabbered at each other, other days they just played, barely saying a word.

Lewis' mother was a different story. Bobby was still very shy around her, despite the fact she had been nothing but kind to him. It wasn't that Bobby didn't like her, he did. But he still wouldn't look at her, he was too shy. Everytime she tried to talk to him, he would just stare at his shoes.

She thought about him a lot. This little boy seemed to show up everyday, yet there was never an adult with him. And he stayed there all day. When she and Lewis were there, she made a point of bringing an extra peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a drink, sometimes some fruit. She wondered what he ate when they weren't there. Did he just go hungry all day? And why did no one ever come to check on him? It didn't happen often, but children _were_ sometimes abducted. Especially little shy ones, who played by themselves. Not knowing what he'd been told about strangers, and since Bobby wasn't very forthcoming with information, she made a point of telling him to never get in cars with strangers, or talk with them. Bobby wouldn't say anything.

"You know not to get in cars with people you don't know, don't you Bobby?" All she could see were his curls, since he wouldn't look at her. She finally got down to his level. "Bobby, did your mother tell you not to go in cars with strangers?"

Lewis piped up, very serious, "Strangers will take you away, and hurt you really bad! And you'll never see your mommy or daddy ever again. "

"Lewis!" his mother scolded him. "We don't want to scare Bobby, just explain about strangers."

Bobby's big brown eyes got bigger. He didn't like being hurt. Then surprisingly, Bobby hung his head and said, very softly, "Sometimes Daddy hurts me." She could barely hear him.

"What, sweetheart?"

But Lewis heard. "He said his daddy hurts him."

As soon as Lewis repeated it, Bobby remembered that he wasn't supposed to talk about family stuff. And he got scared. He knew he was in trouble now.

Lewis' mother seemed angry, scaring him even more. He started to back away. Realizing she had scared him, her voice got softer. "What does your daddy do to you, Bobby?"

Tears welling up in his eyes, he said, "Nothin' I'm not 'apposed to talk."

"Bobby?" But Bobby refused to say any more. No matter how much she tried to talk to him, Bobby wouldn't say another word. So Lewis and Bobby continued to play until it was time for Lewis to go home.

"Bobby, honey, shouldn't you be going home, too?"

Bobby just shook his head. "Don't wanna."

"I'll take you home if you like...talk to your mother." When Bobby said nothing, she took matters into her own hands, literally. She reached down and took Bobby's hand. "C'mon, sweetie, Lewis and I will walk you home."

Bobby pulled away. "Don't wanna!" he repeated.

Mrs. Renelle took his hand again, and one of Lewis'. Bobby offered no more resistance, but the closer they got to his home, he started squirming, and she had to hold his wrist or he would have pulled away again.

Finally they reached the Goren home, and Lewis' mother, Lorena Renelle knocked on the door. Big Frank answered the door. He had obviously been drinking; his breath reeked of alcohol. He looked at each of them, and Bobby suddenly pulled away again and ran into his room and hid under the bed.. "Yeah?" Frank asked.

"We, uh...I'm Lorena Renelle and this is my son, Lewis. We just...brought Bobby home."

"So? You want a reward or somethin'? Cause if you do, I'll give you more to take him back." At the shocked look on her face he laughed, thinking he was really funny. Seeing she didn't think it was so funny, he got mean again.

"What? You dinna think it was funny?" he slurred, and practically slammed the door in her face, saying, "Good...evening, Mrs...Whatever."

Suddenly frightened for Bobby, she banged on the door. "Mr. Goren! Wait! Please!"

Abruptly Frances opened the door. "Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Renelle?"

"I...was just worried about Bobby..."

"Why would you be worried about Bobby?" Frances smiled her prettiest smile, and she _was_ very pretty.

"Well, Bobby mentioned..." she suddenly stopped, realizing she might be doing more harm than good.

But Frances knew. "That he gets beatings? I'm sorry, Mrs. Renelle, I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Won't you come in, please?"

Lewis and his mother stepped in. Bobby was nowhere to be seen. "I think I know what the problem is. Bobby's been telling stories again, hasn't he? I assure you, Mrs. Renelle, it's all in Bobby's imagination. He's very precocious, you know, and smart. Sometimes too smart." She laughed, then gave Lewis a disparaging look . "Anyway, he has such a vivid imagination, always telling stories..."

Lewis' mother didn't know what to think. Bobby's trembling as they neared their home could hardly be his imagination, yet everything seemed fine. "Well, boys do have active imaginations."

"I'm so sorry," Frances said. "I do need to talk to Bobby a little about that."

"Well, I guess we'll be on our way. It was getting late, and we wanted to make sure Bobby got home okay."

"Thank you so much," Frances said, ushering them out.

"Nice meeting you, Mrs. Goren. I guess we'll see Bobby at the playground again soon."

But they wouldn't see Bobby at the playground the next day, the day after, or the day after that. That night Frank Goren taught his youngest son a lesson about talking about "family stuff."

xxxxx

For a few days, Frank and Frances got along perfectly. Back to their old ways It was very confusing for the two boys. Sometimes their parents were happy together, other times it was like World War three. But this was one of the good times. Bobby, despite the fact his legs and butt hurt for three solid days, was very happy, as was Frankie. Frankie had also started getting in trouble lately, and although he didn't catch quite the flak Bobby did, he was starting to catch some. However, he was still, and always would be, the golden boy. For a while they almost felt like a normal family. Then the roof fell in. Big Frank announced his plans to go upstate for the weekend, by himself, to the races, leaving Frances and their sons alone, again.

This was the last straw, Frank was gone a lot more than he was ever home. Frances was furious, never more so in her entire life. She went around screaming, banging pots and pans, and everything she could get her hands on. Frankie made a point of staying out of her way, and even kept an eye on Bobby, keeping him out of trouble, too.

Then, just as suddenly, she was happy, which confused and frightened her sons even more. Sensing their apprehension, she explained, "Uncle Mark is coming over. Everything will be fine."

"Will he bring me a present?" Bobby asked hopefully.

"I don't know, honey, we'll see."

Frankie scowled. "If he does, you better not let Daddy see it. He'll break it, right on your head! Then he'll hit you!"

The smile left Bobby's face. "Ma?"

xxxxx

Later on, as expected, there was a knock at the door. Frankie ran to open it. "Hi ya, Uncle Mark!"

Mark Ford Brady ruffled Frankie's hair. "Hi, Frankie. Where's your mother?"

"In her room. She's getting dressed."

Brady smiled. "Hi, Bobby." Bobby didn't move, which irritated Brady. "I said 'hi', Bobby." Although at first excited at the possibility of a little gift, Bobby suddenly became anxious with Brady's very presence, as he always was. For a reason he did not understand, he never liked being around Brady.

One of the reasons Brady brought these little gifts was a way of trying to win Frances' and _his_ son over. But Bobby wouldn't have anything to do with Brady. Brady didn't know why, and it irritated him to no end. But he did demand respect. "Get over here," he muttered. Even Frankie was a little frightened, and he pushed Bobby over to him. "Go on," he whispered, "don't make him mad."

As Bobby slowly, very slowly, made his way over to Brady, Brady saw nothing but red. He was easily angered, and for a moment, in his psychotic mind, he pictured Bobby lying in a crumpled little heap at his feet. A minute later his vision cleared, and he thrust a little toy boat into Bobby's hands. "Take it," he growled.

Bobby took it, then quickly turned and went to stand by Frankie.

Brady went into the bedroom as the boys watched. "You ready, baby? We're getting out of here."

Frances turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we're going away for the weekend, just like your son of a bitch husband. Isn't that the reason you called me?" He knew it was, and he said it to make her feel uncomfortable.

For a moment it had the desired effect, then Frances threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Mark, I can't believe it! Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want. Away from here. We'll have a night like we did the night Kennedy was elected." He nuzzled her neck.

Frances suddenly closed her eyes and gave a big sigh.

"What?" Brady asked, irritated again.

"It's the boys. I can't get a sitter at this late notice. Not for a whole weekend."

Brady was pissed. "Then just leave 'em here! They'll be okay."

"Mark! Frankie's only seven, and Bobby is only four! We can't--"

"Can't what? You never left them alone before?"

"Not that long! A couple of hours, maybe..."

"So it's a few more hours. I was left alone all the time when I was a kid, and I survived just fine. Do you want to go, or not? If you don't, I'll leave right now--"

Frances panicked. "No, don't go! I'll...I'll...okay...just let me talk to them, and gather a few things."

"You gather your things. _I'll_ talk to them. Oh, and don't forget that new red dress." He had seen the new dress hanging in the closet. He left the bedroom, and went over to the two small boys. "Sit down," he ordered them. Both boys immediately sat. "You two aren't going to mess this up for me. If there is any trouble, I'm gonna make you both sorry. _Very_ sorry. You got that?"

Frankie wasn't sure what to think, and not taking any chances, agreed. Bobby took him seriously, and vigorously nodded his head. Bobby was already afraid of him, not even knowing one didn't fool around with Mark Ford Brady.

Fifteen minutes later, Frances and Brady were ready to go. She kissed them each, giving them some last minute instructions. "No cooking. There's cereal and peanut butter and jelly. Frankie, watch your brother. Bobby, be good, and listen to Frankie." Then they were out the door and were gone. Bobby and Frankie just looked at each other. Neither seemed particularly unhappy with this new development.

The departure of Frances and Brady ended one era for the Goren family, and a whole new one was about to start. It was after this weekend that things would begin to change for the Gorens. And it would not be a change for the better.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

The Way It Was Chapter 8

Frances Goren and Mark Ford Brady left for a weekend of fun, drinking and sex, seemingly not a bit concerned about the fact that they had left Frances' two small boys by themselves. Apparently they assumed a seven year old was capable of caring for a precocious four year old for nearly three days.

As they were leaving, four-year-old Bobby ran to the window, pulling the blinds apart to watch as his mother got in the car with Uncle Mark. Uncle Mark was being really nice to her, even opening the door for her. Daddy never did that. Watching his mother drive off with Uncle Mark suddenly made Bobby sad. He missed his mom already. At such a young age he was still very much attached to his mother, despite the fact that his brother was favored over him. But he was too young to realize that and the thought of his mother being gone frightened and distressed him.

"Why did Mommy go?" he asked, his eyes bright with tears. "I don't want Mommy to go."

Frankie put his arm around his little brother. "It's all right, Bobby. She'll be back. I'll take care of you."

"Sometimes Daddy don't come home." Bobby remembered many nights when Daddy didn't come home, and Mommy would get _very _mad. Then she would call Uncle Mark, who always came over.

"Well, _Mommy_ will." Seeing this had no effect on his little brother he said, "We'll have fun! We don't even have to go to bed tonight!"

Bobby just stared at him.

"We can stay up as long as we want!" Frankie had a big smile on his face, like he was getting away with something.

Bobby still wasn't happy, but he did like the idea of staying up all night. He had never done that before. "Okay," he said softly.

"Right now we can watch tv, anything you want." Frankie normally lorded it over Bobby, but since he knew Bobby was upset, he felt a little bad for his brother, and was being extra nice. And the boys settled down to watch a little tv, some afternoon cartoons, when Bobby suddenly spoke up.

"My belly is making noises," he said. Then he grinned, "Funny noises. And my belly is hungry, really hungry."

"It's not time yet," Frankie told him, unwilling to leave his TV show.

"But my belly is hungry _**now**_!" Bobby said emphatically.

"Shut up!" Frankie's sympathy for his brother was short-lived. "I'm watching TV, you hafta wait."

"I want ba-sketti!" Bobby said doggedly. Bobby just loved spaghetti, it was his favorite food.

Frankie was exasperated. "You can't have spaghetti, anyway, Stupid. We ain't allowed to cook. Didn't you hear Ma? She said no cooking!" He went back to watching TV.

Seeing that Frankie wasn't about to move, Bobby went into the kitchen to get his own dinner. He opened the refrigerator, and peered in. There wasn't much to choose from, it was nearly empty except for some butter, milk, a few odd condiments, a couple of beers and a small assortment of leftovers. Bobby pulled out the pot of spaghetti from two days ago, put it on the table, and then pulled a chair over to the stove. The knobs were at the back end of the stove, out of Bobby's reach, so he had to climb up, and turned one of the knobs on all the way. He then put the spaghetti on, and went back to the living room to watch TV with Frankie, lying on his usual spot on the floor.

The two brothers continued to watch cartoons, laughing as Jerry once again got the best of the big grey cat Tom. After a bit, Frankie suddenly sat up, looking around. "Something's burning!" he said excitedly. "Did you…?" He raised his fist to Bobby. "C'mon!" He dashed off quickly to the kitchen, Bobby following on his heels.

The pot of spaghetti was burning, black smoke billowing out the top, the pot red hot. "Get the pot off!" Frankie shouted, climbing up to turn the burner off. Bobby grabbed the pot, then cried out and dropped the pot. The spaghetti, that which wasn't all burned together, spilled out, while Bobby started screaming and jumping up and down.

Frankie stared for a moment, not sure exactly what had happened. All he knew was that the spaghetti was burnt and all over the floor and Bobby was screaming and tears were running down his cheeks. "Shut up!" he told him again, but Bobby only screamed louder, still jumping and holding his hand. Thinking Bobby was just being stupid, he started to pick up the pot, and immediately dropped it, burning his own hand. He shook his hand as if it would take the pain away. It dawned on him then that Bobby was screaming because he had also burnt his hand on that dumb pot. Frankie grabbed his hand.

"God, Bobby!" Most of his fingers and a little of his hand were red and all blistered and Bobby was still trying to jump around, but Frankie grabbed him. Then he looked at his own hand, which was just a little red, not nearly as bad as Bobby's because he'd barely touched it before dropping it, whereas Bobby had totally picked it up and pulled it away from the stove.

"Hold still!" Frankie thought for a moment, blowing on his own hand while holding onto Bobby's, as Bobby stood there crying, the tears not letting up a bit.

"I know," he said. He opened the refrigerator and reached in for the butter. Not knowing it was the exact opposite of what should be done for a burn he said, "Ma always does this; she said when you burn yourself always put butter on it." He took the butter and put it all over Bobby's hand, then his own. "We'll keep putting it on till it's better." But the butter didn't help a bit; it only held the heat in, and Bobby's hand did not feel better at all.

Frankie frowned at his little brother reprovingly. "This is how come Daddy always hits you. You're stupid and do stupid things. You're _**always**_ doing stuff."

"No I don't!" Bobby defended himself. Then he looked down. He knew it was true, he _**was**_a bad boy. He was not happy; he was in trouble again, especially when Daddy finds out. His hand hadn't stopped burning and hurt terribly, more than anything had ever hurt before, well, except for that one thing.

Frankie took no more notice of Bobby's hand. "I guess we can have supper now," he said. "But we can't have spaghetti. Want cereal or peanut butter and jelly?" After a moment he said, "Well?"

"Peanut butter and jelly," Bobby said dejectedly, not hungry anymore and very subdued now.

"Okay. I'll make them, you clean up the spaghetti."

The two boys busied themselves at their tasks, Bobby clumsily using his uninjured right hand to clean up the spaghetti mess. Frankie picked up the pot again; making sure it wasn't still hot. Finally their little supper was ready and they took it into the living room to watch TV again. Just like Daddy always did. Mommy never let them do that, but Mommy wasn't here now.

Not really interested in his dinner Bobby went to the window and looked out again, hoping to see his mother returning. Instead he saw large ominous thunder clouds rolling in, and as he watched, the rain started, coming down in little drops at first, then the sky opened. "It's raining," he said unemotionally. Suddenly there was a huge booming thunderclap, making him jump. He and Frankie looked at each other. Under normal circumstances Bobby had no fear of storms. But today everything was different. Mommy wasn't here, Daddy wasn't here, and his burned hand was throbbing. _**Where's Mommy?**_ he thought anxiously.

"Come on, Bobby!" Frankie called. "Look what's on!"

Bobby came over to stand by Frankie, who was staring at the image on their old black and white TV. His stomach suddenly felt funny, there was some creature with huge gnashing teeth viciously tearing the throat out of a beautiful woman. "Is…is that a giant wolf?" he asked, staring with huge saucer eyes at the slaughter.

"It's a werewolf!" Frankie said, totally delighted that he had come upon this movie by chance. "It's 'The Wolf Man' and it's really scary! I like scary movies! Come on!" He headed back to his spot on the couch. Bobby scrambled up next to him, not sure he really wanted to watch this, but not really having a choice. Once it reached a scene that was fairly normal, Bobby ventured to ask a question. "What is…a…werewolf?"

"Shut up," Frankie said, trying to hear. Like most brothers, 'shut up' was his usual response to Bobby

"But what is it?" Bobby demanded, not willing to give it up.

"It's a man who turns into a wolf," Frankie explained, obviously vexed by Bobby's interruption. "And if you get bit by one you turn into one, too! So shut up."

_Even a man who is pure in heart_

_and__ says his prayers by night_

_may__become a wolf when the __wolfbane__ blooms_

_and__ the autumn moon is bright _Over and over the villagers in the movie chanted that saying. "What's that mean?" Bobby whispered.

"Dunno," Frankie said, perplexed. "Maybe it's to keep the werewolves away."

Bobby looked around the room, seeing strange shadows that he hadn't noticed before, and hearing creaking noises. He certainly didn't want to be bit by a werewolf, or eaten by one like that lady. There was another loud clap of thunder, and Bobby scooted as close to his brother as possible.

Now getting much worse, the storm raged, lightening illuminating the whole room at times, followed by the thunder, which impossibly became even louder. And the wind howled like the wolf. Bobby, frightened now by both the storm and the movie, tried not to look, but continued to peek through his fingers at the TV screen. Even Frankie was hiding his eyes, and moved over closer to Bobby, now scared every bit as much as Bobby.

"Turn it off," Bobby whispered through his fingers.

"No way!" Frankie exclaimed. "_**You**_do it!" But neither child was willing to get up and chance being taken away and eaten by a monster. They didn't move.

As it turned out, neither boy had to, as the TV, along with entire house, was plunged into darkness as the power went off. They both sat like statues for a minute before Bobby whispered again. "I want Daddy. And Mommy."

"Shhh" Frankie hushed him. "They'll hear you. Be quiet."

But Bobby wouldn't be quiet. Instead he said very softly, so softly Frankie had to strain to hear him, "Even a man who is pure in heart, and says his prayers at night, may become a wolf when the…wolf…the wolfbane blooms and the aught-um moon is bright."

Frankie looked at his brother in the dark. "Shut up!! Don't say that!" he whispered hysterically.

"But you said the werewolfs won't come—"He was cut off by another boom of thunder, causing them to stiffen, silently hoping that whatever was there would miss them somehow. There was another bolt of lightning, and Frankie saw it: a huge monster by the closet. "A monster!" He bolted for the bedroom, leaving Bobby on the couch, too terrified to even move. The shadows moved, and now Bobby thought he saw it, too, creeping nearer to him with every passing second. He sat there, unmoving. Then Frankie came back, and grabbed him. "C'mon, Bobby!" he whispered loudly enough for Bobby to hear. But Bobby still didn't move.

"Come on!" Frankie whispered, half-dragging Bobby into their room and they scrambled onto the bed, Bobby against the wall, and pulled the covers over their heads, listening intently. The wind was still whistling and howling, the thunder booming, and the lightening flashing. Both boys were trembling, trying with everything they had to not breathe. Inside his young mind, Bobby was repeating over and over_. Mommy! I_ _want you…__Daddy!_ "Even a man who is pure in heart—"

"Stop it!" Frankie begged, elbowing him in the ribs.

They could hear footsteps creaking up the basement steps, coming for them…slowly, very slowly. They held their breath, terrified, as they awaited their fate.

tbc

A/N The Wolf Man, 1941


	9. Chapter 9

The Way It Was -- Chapter 9

A/N Just want to say thanks to Roadrunner, for all her suggestions, and also Mary T. Thanks, guys!

_Even a man who is pure in heart_

_and says his prayers by night_

_may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms_

_and the autumn moon is bright_

For some strange reason little Bobby kept repeating the verse, freaking out his brother. Frankie punched him in the arm every time he said it, but it didn't stop him. Bobby was convinced this would keep the wolfman away. The boys layed in their bed, together, under the covers. Both were terrified, both wanting their parents. Neither would so much as peek out from under the covers, knowing if they did that monster would see them. They both knew it was only a matter of time anyway.

"Frankie—" Bobby whispered.

"Shh!" Frankie hissed. "Be quiet! Listen!"

They could hear the footsteps in the hall now, drawing even closer, till they were right outside their door. They boys huddled together, eyes tightly shut, then came the unmistakable sound of a doorknob being turned. Finally Frankie pulled the covers down a tiny bit, so they could both see, just in time to see the door slowly creaking open. Thunder rolled and lightening flashed, illuminating the gnarly features of a big shaggy creature, which made his way into their room.

The boys' screams died in their throats as they lay frozen in their bed, scared to death by the creature which stood silently for a moment before turning and vanishing into the hall again, the door once again creaking as it shut behind it.

"He's gone!" Bobby whispered, letting out a long-held breath, and before Frankie could stop him Bobby climbed quickly out of the bed and to the door.

"Bobby!" Frankie hissed at him again, "Don't! He might--"

But Bobby was already at the door, opening it furtively and slipping through the gap as quickly and quietly as he could. The creature had left. Bobby tiptoed out of the room, keeping very low, watching silently. A moment later Frankie followed, catching up with Bobby. The boys were convinced that they were alone again when suddenly the creature emerged from their parents' bedroom. They were caught in the flashing light of another lightning bolt.

"What the—" the creature stared at them, and they stared at him, paralyzed. Silhouetted against the window with another bolt flashing, the man-creature looked ghoulish, with his longish hair and the horrible shadows on his face by the strobing light.

Still the boys didn't move, too scared to move a muscle. The living thing seemed like a man, but the brothers weren't fooled. They knew he just appeared to be a long haired man, cause they had seen him as a ferocious werewolf.

The man looked at them and advanced. Screaming the boys spun around and hightailed it back to their bedroom, this time dropping to the floor and rolling under the bed, pasting themselves to the wall.

"Hey, c'mere!" the man called to them, but neither of them dared to follow his command. They heard the floor creak and then a pair of heavy boots stopped in front of the bed. The boys cowered back even more. "Hey, c'mon. I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise. C'mon."

Getting no response, he knelt down and reached under the bed to grab the first kid he could get his hands on. Bobby cried out when the strong hand closed around his wrist and pulled, trying to resist valiantly but was still pulled out, wriggling all the way. Straightening, the man put Bobby on the bed.

"Sit," he ordered him, then turned back to get Frankie out. "You might as well come out; I've got your little brother." Reluctantly Frankie slid out from under the bed, and the man put him on the bed next to Bobby. Both boys were trembling, and staring at the man-creature.

"Don't be—" _scared_, he wanted to say, but was interrupted.

"Are…are you a…a…werewolf?" Bobby whispered, his soft little voice shaking.

As Frankie punched Bobby and told him to shut up, the man burst out laughing. "No! Why--?" he gasped between laughter.

"Are…you going to…eat us?" Bobby whispered again. Even kneeling, the man towered over them, looking wild with his long shaggy rain soaked hair. The man had never seen such big solemn, terrified eyes on a child before, and immediately understood just how scared these little boys were. He reached out to Bobby to tousle his hair and reassure him, but Bobby shrank back, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.

"Hey, boy, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not a werewolf, I swear." With that he picked Bobby up, and Bobby went rigid.

"Look, kid, if I was a werewolf I'd be eating you right now. And I'm not." He looked at Frankie. "Right? Tell him that." Frankie refused to speak. "Okay, look. My name is--"

"Larry," Bobby piped up, then shrank back, scared at his own bravery.

Larry stared at the boy in the dimness. _How the hell? _"Hey, how do you know my name?"

Bobby looked at him, surprised, and said, very patiently, "You're the wolfman."

"The wolfman?"

"Yeah, we seen you earlier, on tv, before the lights went out."

"Aha. You've been watching 'The Wolfman'?" Then Larry remembered. _Larry Talbot…the wolfman_…_Great! I have to have the same first name as the wolfman in the movie…_"Yeah, you're right." He couldn't help it, he had to laugh.

Then, as suddenly as it went out, the power came back on. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust. Looking at Larry in the light, the boys still weren't too sure what to think. Larry saw that they were still a little scared, so he explained, "Listen guys, I'm just a guy like you…with a lot longer hair. Well, maybe not a _whole_ lot longer," he said, pointing out Bobby's 'Bobby Brady' curls. I just don't have a house, like you do. And I don't have any food. It was storming and raining so hard I just wanted to find a place to stay until it was over. I didn't know anyone was home or I wouldn't be here. I was just hungry, and looking for something to eat. _Real_ food," he emphasized. "Sorry if I scared you guys."

Bobby , still in Larry's arms, relaxed a little, and stared at the man for a moment. Somewhere in Bobby's mind it registered that Larry had kind eyes, not mean yellow wolf eyes, and he wasn't as scared anymore. Well, not _quite_ as much. "We…got food," he told him softly.

Larry hugged Bobby to him. "I'm sorry I scared you so much," he repeated. "I didn't mean to." He set Bobby back down. "I'll go now, so you boys can go back to bed."

"But we got food," Bobby repeated, hating that someone was hungry and didn't have any food. Frankie nodded his agreement.

Larry looked at the boys. "Yeah?"

"C'mon," Bobby said, taking his hand and leading him to the stairs. They all went downstairs to the kitchen, where Frankie and Bobby sat in chairs in the kitchen.

Larry noticed the burnt pot on the stove, and the burnt spaghetti. He frowned. "You guys have trouble with your dinner?"

Frankie mumbled something, and Bobby looked down sheepishly at his hands. That was how he noticed Bobby's burnt hand. _Man! How did that happen? _"Does your hand hurt very much…Bobby, isn't it?"

Bobby nodded his head, both in acknowledgement of his name and the fact that his hand did indeed hurt.

"C'mon, then, we'll see what we can do about that." Taking Bobby by his other hand, he led him into the bathroom. Looking in the medicine cabinet he finally came up with some first aid cream. "Let's try this," he said. But Bobby was having nothing to do with it, pulling his hand away and backing up towards the door.

"C'mon, Bobby," Larry cajoled him. "Didn't I promise you I wouldn't hurt you?"

Bobby listened for a moment, then decided to trust Larry the wolfman. Larry picked him up again, and sat with down on the lid of the toilet, putting Bobby on his lap. He squeezed a little bit of the cream on his finger, and then gently onto Bobby's hand.

As he rubbed the cream on he realized some of the huge blisters had already popped, leaving Bobby's hand raw in places. Bobby pulled his hand away again. _Aw, shit!_ It was worse than he'd originally thought. "I'm sorry, Bobby, I gotta do this, kid. Can you be a big boy and let me do this?"

Bobby nodded, reluctantly giving Larry his hand again. The tears rolled down his cheeks as Larry maneuvered the cream around, pushing some skin away as he did so, in order to get to the raw spots. "I'm so sorry, little guy. I know I promised it wouldn't hurt, I didn't know it was so bad." Bobby nodded again, even as the tears kept falling, sensing Larry wasn't _trying_ to hurt him. Larry then wrapped his hand in gauze, securing it with first aid tape. "To keep the dirt out," he explained.

"You certainly are a big boy, Bobby," he told him to make him feel better. "You have tears, sure, can't help that, but you didn't cry out once. Not once!" This got a big smile from Bobby, who received very little praise.

"Well, you ready to go back? Your brother might be a little scared that we're not coming back."

"Okay," Bobby murmured.

"C'mon," Larry said, taking his hand and leading him back to the kitchen where Frankie still sat, waiting in his chair. "You know, guys, I'm hungry." Larry said as Bobby settled down in another chair. As if on cue his stomach rumbled.

"You okay if I have a look?"

Since the boys didn't reply, Larry rummaged in the refrigerator, and the cabinets.

"You guys hungry, too?" he asked as he heard their little stomachs grumble.

"Yes!" the boys said together. 

"Okay, here are just a few things we could have. What would you like?"

"Ba-sketti!" Bobby said eagerly.

"It's _spa_-ghetti, Bobby," Frankie corrected him again.

"Well, it don't matter how we say it as long as we know what it is." Larry ruffled Bobby's dark curls. Bobby looked up at him gratefully. Nobody _ever_ defended Bobby, especially where Frankie was concerned. "So, ba-sketti it is!"

He looked around in the cabinet until he found some cans of tomato sauce and spaghetti noodles. "Hope you guys like plain ba-sketti, aint got much here to work with." He could have been making mud cakes right now; Bobby wouldn't have cared. Despite their rocky start, Bobby had taken a real liking to Larry, who he suspected was still a wolfman, just a _nice_ one. And he was being especially nice to Bobby.

Larry put water on to boil for the spaghetti, and put the sauce in a pot to heat up. Then he sat at the table with them. Looking at Bobby's burnt hand again he was reminded about their parents. "So why are you guys here by yourself? Where are your parents anyway?"

"Don't know," Bobby answered, squirming a bit as Larry continued looking at his hand.

Frankie went into a little more detail. "Mommy's with Uncle Mark, for a whole weekend, and Daddy…I think he went away to the track. Far away someplace."

"Daddy's al'loys at the track," Bobby said, looking at Larry as if it was common knowledge, and he should know that.

"I see," Larry mumbled. He looked at these small boys and wondered about their parents. Who in their right mind would leave two little boys by themselves, for the whole weekend? One of the kids was already injured, with a very bad burn. And the kid could have hurt himself even more, possibly caught his clothes on fire…these kids could have burnt the whole house down with them still inside. Jesus!

Larry checked on the pot and put the spaghetti in the now boiling water. Soon the meal was ready. Frankie set the table, just bowls and silverware, and Larry filled their bowls. Larry ate voraciously; having not had a decent meal for a while now, and Frankie and Bobby both ate hungrily.

They talked as they ate. "Are you still a wolfman?" Bobby asked, spooning as much spaghetti in his mouth as would fit. Frankie ,too, was anxious for the answer.

"I'm not a wolfman," Larry insisted. He couldn't imagine why they were so convinced he was a werewolf, but realized he wasn't about to change their thought process. But he played along anyway.

"Hey, you know how to keep a werewolf away?"

Both boys shook their heads.

"Wear a garlic necklace."

They both laughed. "Hey, it's true! And you can kill them with silver bullets." Larry wasn't really sure if this applied to werewolves or vampires, but it didn't matter. They were having fun.

With eyes as big as saucers, Bobby asked, "Did you get shotted?"

"Naw, never did. I got lucky."

"C'mon now," he said, noticing Bobby yawning. "Eat up. You guys gotta go back to bed."

"Larry?" Bobby said, stifling another yawn.

"Yeah?"

"I have money," Bobby said. "In my piggy bank. Ma says I got a dollar and ten cents, but I don't. I got a dollar and twenty five cents. You could have it so you won't be hungry no more."

Larry smiled, he couldn't help liking this sweet little boy, but he couldn't take the boy's money. "That's nice of you to offer, Bobby, but I—" Seeing the disappointed look on Bobby's face, he changed his mind. "But, yeah, thank you very much."

Bobby grinned, and ran upstairs. He returned shortly with his piggy bank. He opened it, spilling out its contents. Then he picked them up and handed them to Larry, who accepted graciously, and put it in his pocket. Bobby watched him thoughtfully with his big expressive eyes.

"Now come on, eat up."

Bobby nodded and climbed back into his chair, where he continued to eat his ba-sketti.

Later, as Larry finished his first helping and refilled his bowl, he asked if the other two wanted more. Frankie declined, already full, and Larry looked to Bobby. But Bobby, despite being as hungry as he was, couldn't fight any longer: he was leaning sideways in his chair, about to fall off. He was sound asleep.

Larry picked him up and carried him upstairs, laying him gently in his bed. He sat down next to him, watching him for a moment, and stroked his long curls back. Bobby woke up for just a second, saw Larry, and smiled. "G'night, wolfman." Then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

Larry watched him for a moment more. "Good night, little guy," he whispered.

Heading back downstairs, he saw Frankie now yawning at the table. "Ready to go to bed too, Frankie?" Frankie nodded, and Larry walked him upstairs to the room he shared with Bobby. "G'night, Larry," he said sleepily.

"Good night, Frankie. Hey, take care of your little brother, okay?"

"Okay," Frankie agreed.

Larry went out, shutting the door quietly behind him. He went back and cleaned up the little mess in the kitchen, then stretched his body out on the long couch. He figured he'd sleep until just before dawn, then get out before any one returned home. Hopefully their parents would turn up before long to take care of them. But for now, at least tonight, these kids were going to be safe. He slept peacefully.

Someone who wasn't sleeping peacefully was little Bobby. He woke up sometime in the night, worried about Larry the Wolfman. He couldn't imagine how a wolfman got money for food, then suddenly something occurred him. He remembered his Dad's special stash of money that he hid in the closet. Daddy never used it (or so he thought) so he would just give it to Larry. Then Larry could buy food with it and not be so hungry ever again.

He ran to his parents' room in his bare feet, and went into the closet, moving and pushing things around till he came to a shoebox, hidden in the mess of the closet. He pulled the lid up and looked inside. Sure enough, there was the money. Bobby smiled, happy to be able to help Larry.

Bobby closed the lid, and went out of the room, unaware that Frankie had followed and seen everything.

Once downstairs, Bobby went to Larry and tried to wake him up. "Larry…wolfman…wake up!" Larry murmured something in his sleep, but wouldn't wake up no matter how hard Bobby tried. "C'mon, wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

When it became obvious to Bobby that Larry wasn't going to wake up, Bobby stuffed the dollars in Larry's pocket, and would tell him about it in the morning. He gave Larry a big hug, and went back to bed. But true to his plan, by the time the boys woke up in the morning, Larry was gone, along with the money from Bobby's piggybank in his pocket, and unknowingly, the stash reserved for one of big Frank's gambling debts.

.

tbc.


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks again to Roadrunner

The Way It Was Chapter 10

The long night was finally over. Frankie found himself practically lying on top of his little brother, who was shoved up against the wall, wound up in the covers and sleeping fitfully, occasionally whimpering in his sleep. His hand had throbbed and hurt all night long. Frankie moved off Bobby and stared. Was Bobby crying? How could he cry in his sleep?

"Bobby! Wake up!" He shook Bobby's shoulder hard. "Wake up!"

Bobby sat up slowly and tried pushing his tousled curls out of his eyes before he became aware again of how badly his hand still hurt. He _had _been crying in his sleep. Next he tried rubbing his eyes, surprised to find his eyes wet. He was bewildered.

"Baby!" Frankie mocked him, pushing him back down, and straddling him.

"No I'm not!" Bobby defended himself.

"Yes you are! You're a crybaby! You even cry when you're sleeping!"

"Don't, neither!" Bobby retorted, although he was confused by his own tears. "Lem…me…up!" he gasped, struggling beneath his brother. For now, Frankie was still a lot bigger than him, and never hesitated to let him know it. He refused to let him up.

"Daddy's gonna beat your ass, bad," Frankie sneered.

Bobby sobered at this and stopped his struggling. He wasn't sure why he was in for an ass beating, but he didn't doubt it.

Finally, satisfied that he had sufficiently scared him, he got off his brother and Bobby could breathe again. Frankie left to go downstairs. Bobby got up and followed, but then, noticing his parents' room, stopped at their door. Cautiously he entered the room and looked around. It was so empty and seemed cold and unwelcoming.

No Mommy. No Daddy. He was distressed. He was just a little guy and couldn't comprehend why they had left him for so long. He'd been on his own before, many times, but never overnight. Especially after the terror of last night, when there really had been no one to protect him, he wondered if they ever would come back. It was Bobby's first taste of abandonment. And it didn't taste very good.

XXX

Downstairs Frankie had made himself a bowl of cereal. Bobby came down, and sitting in a chair he watched for a moment as Frankie ate. Then Bobby noticed something on the cereal box and took it, holding it sideways, reaching his uninjured hand inside and pouring out a wrapped prize and also half the cereal.

"Look, Frankie, a de…de…coder ring!" Bobby said excitedly, picking it up.

Frankie snatched it out of his hand. "It's mine! Daddy said I get all the prizes, 'cause I'm the biggest."

That seemed to be the way it went the majority of the time, so Bobby didn't even argue, just glared at his brother.

XXX

Later the boys settled into the living room watching cartoons. Frankie had seemed a little out of sorts all morning, due to all the events of last night. At last he spoke to Bobby. "Daddy really _is_ going to beat your ass."

Bobby turned to Frankie, any semblance of a smile long gone. "No he's not," Bobby protested, almost in a whisper.

"Yes he is, 'cause you gave all his money to the wolfman!"

"But he don't got no money…"

"You're still gonna get it. _Baby_."

Just the thought of his dad whipping him put the fear of God in him. He went back to the safety of his room and crawled under his bed, thinking. Bobby had taken to lying under his bed when he felt scared. It provided a bit of protection, temporarily, when he was in trouble. For a four year old, he had way too many worries. After a while he got back out and got out his toy soldier men. He sat on the floor, crashing his army men together to make them fight, and forgot about his troubles for a bit. He thought when he grew up maybe he would be an army man.

Bobby finally tired of playing army men and decided to go outside, not knowing where he was going, just going. The sky was still overcast, making for a very gloomy day. Bobby was too young to pay much attention to the weather, until it directly affected him. But today he noticed. He wondered if it would rain again… be dark again…and maybe the wolfman would come back. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He continued walking, and soon found himself in a shopping area. He just stood there and watched all the people. No one paid any attention to him.

Meanwhile, at home, Frankie had decided he'd better follow after Bobby, thinking it might just be in his best interest to do that. Especially since he'd promised his mother. A few minutes later Frankie bounded up to him. "Wow, Bobby, you're fast!" Bobby appeared not to not notice him as he continued to people-watch.

"What'cha looking at?" Frankie continued. Following Bobby's gaze he saw a shabbily dressed old man on a corner, asking passer-bys for money. Most ignored him, pretending not to even notice him, while some grudgingly coughed up a dollar or some change. And some were just plain disgusted by him.

Remembering a line from his prayers, Bobby asked, "Is he the poor soul from 'perkatory'? And is he waiting for 'murphy'?" Bobby had no idea what that meant, but somehow the shabbily dressed old man seemed like he could be someone from "perkatory."

"It's _purgatory_, stupid," Frankie corrected him. He had just made his First Holy Communion and knew all about heaven, hell and purgatory. "And they wait for _mercy_, not _murphy_." Frankie watched the man too. "But I think _he's_ just waiting for money."

Bobby continued to watch the old man. "I wanna give him some money, too." He'd never seen anyone like that raggedy old man, and he was fascinated.

"Well, we can't, 'cause you gave all the money to the wolfman."

"Well, then, why can't people give _us _money?" Bobby asked.

"Because—" Bobby had suddenly given him an idea. He grabbed Bobby by the arm and dragged him to the corner. "Sit down," he told him, indicating the dirty city curb. After Bobby sat Frankie gave him his next instructions. "Now cry."

Bobby looked up at him, confused. "Why?"

"Cause if they see a little kid crying they'll give you money to shut you up."

Bobby grinned. "Okay!" And he started fake crying. "Waahh…"

Bobby's impersonation of a crying child apparently wasn't good enough for Frankie, so he tried to make it real. He punched Bobby as hard as he could, a knuckle punch he had learned from some older kids. But instead of making him cry, it made him mad. And he punched Frankie back and Frankie decided Bobby's fake crying was good enough.

A woman was approaching, and Frankie whispered, "Bobby, cry." He needn't have worried; Bobby kept it up pretty good. When the woman reached them, she saw two dirty little boys, the little one sobbing. "Honey, what's wrong?" she asked, kneeling down next to him.

"He lost the milk money," Frankie said. "Mommy gave us money to buy milk, and he lost it. He's gonna be in big trouble." Frankie looked at his brother very solemly.

"And Daddy's gonna beat my ass!" Bobby piped up, peeking out from between his fingers pathetically.

"What?" The woman was shocked, not used to hearing such language from a young child.

"Yeah, Daddy's gonna beat his ass good," Frankie concurred.

The woman stared for a moment, still a little in shock about the language and the possibility of physical harm coming to the little boy. His hand was apparently already injured…was that the result of something his father had done? She knew she couldn't do anything about that, but maybe giving him a little change would help his current situation. "Well, how much money do you need, honey?" she asked, opening her change purse.

"A dollar!" Frankie said. The woman frowned at him, feeling a little extorted, but ended up giving him the dollar. Frankie shoved it into his pocket. After the woman left, Frankie knelt down next to Bobby and patted his head like a dog. "Good boy!"

Bobby smiled in response, but Frankie said, "Keep crying. Here comes somebody else."

It was a man who just gave them a dirty look and went on. Next came a young teenage couple. The guy was on to them immediately, but the girl felt sorry for them. "Aren't they cute?" she exclaimed. "Tony, give them some money," she urged him. Eager to impress his new girlfriend, he gave each of them two dollars. He winked at them as they left, causing both boys to grin. Frankie was starting to think this was a good deal; they could do this every time they needed money. This went on for a little longer until someone alerted a local beat cop. Seeing the cop, Frankie grabbed Bobby and ran.

The boys quickly lost the cop, mixing in with the crowd, and just ended up on another corner, where they had more good luck. Between them they now had 19. Frankie had no idea how much money they needed to replace their dad's stash, but 19 seemed like a huge amount to him.

Everything seemed to be going really well, until Lewis and his mother rounded the corner across the street. Lewis had a double scoop ice cream cone. Then he spotted them. "Hi, Bobby!" he yelled, and started tugging on his mother's coat, pointing to Bobby and trying to get her to go to him.

Bobby also spotted Lewis. Frankie decided this was not a good thing. "C'mon, Bobby, we gotta go!" He pulled Bobby by his arm, but Bobby jerked away. He was torn between leaving with Frankie, and seeing his friend Lewis again. In the end, Lewis won.

Lewis' mother stared at them. _Bobby and his brother Frankie…were they?_ _No, they couldn't_ _be…oh my God, they were!_ Bobby and his brother were begging! For money! And so far from home! In a split second all kinds of things ran through her head. Mostly she pictured a four-year-old running into a busy street and being hit by a car or bus. Then she imagined a man picking both boys up and disappearing with them, doing God-knows-what to them. Neither was a pleasant thought.

About this time Frankie smartly decided to take off.

Mrs. Renelle and Lewis hurried over, Lewis losing the scoops of ice cream off his cone as his mother pulled him quickly along. He tried to stop and pick it up, but his mother really didn't notice, continuing to drag him. Finally getting to Bobby she knelt down in front of him.

"Bobby! What are you doing?!"

Bobby looked surprised. "Nothin." He had no idea what she was talking about.

"Where is your mother?! What are you doing this far from home?!"

"Workin," Bobby said.

"What do you mean, working?"

Bobby looked at her like she should know all this. "I gaved all my Dad's money to the wolfman. And now Daddy's gonna beat my ass."

Mrs. Renelle stood up, taking a deep breath. _The wolfman?_ _What wolfman?_ _Bobby is _lying_ to me?_ _And that_ _language!_ "Bobby, you watch your mouth, little boy. And are you lying to me?"

Bobby shook his dark curly head. "Uh uh," he said. "The wolfman camed to my house last night and I gaved him all my Dad's money. And he made me ba-sketti!"

Mrs. Renelle was starting to get a little angry, a little with Bobby's lying, a little with his language, but mostly at Bobby's family. How could they allow a four-year-old uptown by himself? Didn't they care one bit what happened to this child? She knelt down in front of him, taking him by the shoulders. "Bobby! You tell me the truth! You know there is no such thing as a wolfman!"

Bobby looked her in the eyes. "Uh huh! There is too! He camed to my house!"

She had never heard such blatant lying, and right to her face. Unfortunately she allowed the anger that she now had at his family to come down on him. "Bobby, you tell me the truth right now!" And she shook him.

Immediately Bobby's mind flashed back to a few months ago, when his father had shaken him, hard_. He was sitting on the floor in the living room, while his dad lay on the couch drinking another beer. Both were watching the Yankees on tv. The Yankees were losing bad, and Frank was in a foul mood. He tossed his empty beer can with all the others on the floor next to him, figuring eventually someone would clean it up. _

"_Son of a bitch! Fucking Yankees!"_ _he said as another runner scored for the Reds, thanks to_ _another Yankee error._ _"Bobby! Get me a god-damn beer! And make it quick!"_ _Frank didn't like to go too long without a beer in his hands. Bobby hurriedly got to his feet and ran into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out another beer. He was used to being a beer runner for his dad. Remembering his dad's order to make it quick, he ran back as fast as he could and handed it to him; Frank took it without so much as even looking at his son, let alone a thank you. As he pulled the tab up, beer shot everywhere—all over Frank, all over the couch, and as Frank sat up quickly, all over the floor. Bobby watched in horror, knowing this was not good._

_His father came roaring off the couch, right for Bobby, who stood frozen. He grabbed the little boy tightly by the shoulders, tight enough to really hurt, and shook him hard._ _"Did you shake this again, you little bastard?" He continued shaking him. "Did ya shake it? How many times do I have to tell you—YOU DON'T SHAKE THE FREAKING BEER!!" Bobby at first had tried to deny shaking it (he didn't realize he had, by running with it) but soon couldn't think. His head felt like it was coming off, and his neck and shoulders hurt. There was no telling what would have happened if Frances had not heard Frank screaming at their four-year-old and came in._

"_Frank! Stop it!" Seeing the violence Frank was perpetrating on their son she yanked Bobby away from his father, one of the few times she protected him. "Just stop it!"_

_Frank looked at her disgustedly, grabbed his keys, and left. Bobby was confused, and still couldn't think. It took a while before he could think clearly again. He developed a bad headache, a muscle in his neck was pulled, and his shoulders were bruised for a week. It was a terrifying experience for him._

Lewis' mom hadn't shaken him nearly as bad as his father did, but it had the same effect, emotionally. Bobby completely shut down. He refused to look at her or to speak, just stood there looking at the littered sidewalk.

Lewis was surprised. "Ma? Why you being mean to Bobby?"

Mrs. Renelle suddenly felt horrible. She rarely _ever_ laid a hand on Lewis, and then it was just a swat on the butt. And she had shook Bobby, a sweet little boy who was not even her own child, all because she was upset with his family's total lack of concern for him.

"Bobby, honey, I'm sorry…" It was like speaking to a wall. Bobby gave no indication of having even heard her. "Bobby…please…?" Bobby continued to stare at the ground, like a statue, not moving and hardly even breathing. Mrs. Renelle got scared. "Bobby!"

Still he wouldn't move. His eyes were shut and he was blocking her out. He tried to make himself invisible. Sometimes he did this when his father was angry with him. Unfortunately it usually had just the opposite effect he was hoping for and just served to make his father even angrier, but Bobby still felt safer that way.

Finally Mrs.Renelle picked him up, for the first time noticing his bandaged hand, which now was quite dirty. _Oh my God! What now_? she wondered. She tried getting him into the car, but he had made himself stiff and unyielding, making it difficult. Lewis sat next to him, totally confused. He kept trying to talk to Bobby but Bobby wasn't talking back.

She tried to get him to open up again, to try to break through the seemingly awake-yet-unconscious state he was in. He almost appeared catatonic, but surely...he wasn't… "Bobby?! Please talk to me…what happened to your hand, sweetie?" Her words fell on deaf ears, as Bobby stared straight ahead, apparently at nothing, and his breathing was so slow she could barely see his chest move. She worried about this child.

On the drive to the Goren home Mrs. Renelle seriously wondered about Bobby. He made up that story about a wolfman…and that time he said his daddy hurts him...did he make that up, too? And now an "ass beating"? His mother said Bobby had quite the imagination and frequently made things up. She knew his father had been drunk the first time she had met him, and wasn't very nice. But that didn't necessarily mean he beat his kids. Now she didn't know what to believe. They were kind of a strange family.

Lewis was really in the dark. "Ma?" he started. "Why are you mad at Bobby?"

"I'm not, Lewis. I'm just…I don't know. Frustrated, maybe."

That didn't help Lewis at all. "Bobby thinks you are."

"I know. Bobby, honey, I promise you I'm not mad at you. And I'm sorry I shook you. Are you still mad at me?"

Bobby wouldn't talk, just continued to stare.

"He is, Ma." Lewis said, taking it upon himself to be Bobby's spokesperson.

Mrs. Renelle sighed. She hated that she had alienated Bobby, and truly regretted what she had done. "I'm just going to take you home now, Bobby. To your mother."

Soon they pulled up to the Goren home. Mrs. Renelle got Bobby out of the car, took his hand, and walked him to the door, with Lewis tagging along. She knocked on the door. For a while it seemed that no one was going to answer. At last the door was jerked open by Frankie, who stood there defiantly.

"Um, Frankie, can I speak to your mother please?"

Frankie didn't say anything for a moment, then said, "Mommy's sleeping." It was as good an excuse as any. Many times their mother slept during the day, leaving them on their own.

"Well, can you wake her up, please? I'd like to talk to her."

For a moment Frankie didn't know what to say. A moment later he came up with something. "She's sick. She said not to wake her up."

Mrs. Renelle looked at him incredulously. "Does she know that you and Bobby were uptown? And that after you left, he was alone?" Before she even realized it, Bobby had gotten loose from her and was in the house.

"Yes," Frankie lied. She didn't know whether to believe him or not. Once again she wondered if these children _ever_ told the truth. She had no idea of what to believe anymore.

"And your father?" Just the mere thought of confronting him sent a little shiver of fear up her spine. Frank Goren could be very intimidating.

"Daddy's at the track…somewhere…"

She shook her head in disbelief. "May I come in?" she asked.

"Ma says not to let strangers in the house." With that he slammed the door, nearly hitting Lewis, leaving Lewis and his mother on the stoop. Mrs. Renelle stood there for a moment, then grabbed Lewis' hand and went back to her car, angry again. She had no idea what to make of the Goren family. What went on in that house? Unfortunately, whatever it was, there really wasn't anything she could do about it. Whatever went on behind those closed doors would likely stay there. All she could do was try to be there for Bobby if he needed her. _If_ Bobby ever forgave her. She was filled again with self loathing for what she had done, and could only hope that soon he would trust her again.

tbc

A/N Nowadays there would no doubt be some kind of intervention if children were neglected or abused. However I believe in those days most people did not interfere with what went on in other people's families, really believing that whatever went on behind closed doors was not their business.

Sometimes I bring to this story events from my own childhood, such as the one where Frankie "taught" Bobby to cross the busy street. My brother actually did that with me. And according to my mother, the first time I saw nuns in church (at 3 or 4 years old) I asked very loudly if the nuns were the poor souls from "perkatory" and if they were waiting for "murphy." I just thought a little Catholic boy like Bobby might wonder about some of these things, too. And that sometimes these things really happen.

Thanks to everyone for your reviews!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N This chapter contains foul language, and is a little rough.

The Way It Was Chapter 11

Once, early in her marriage to Frank Goren, Frances had been happy, very happy. They had _both _been happy. For the first three years of their marriage, things had been just right, wonderful, and complete. Both were good looking, attractive people, perfect for each other, each feeding the other's substantial ego. But that was in the past.

Now, holding on to the arm of Mark Ford Brady, Frances was the happiest she'd ever been in her life, not since before she had married Frank. She'd had more men clamoring for her charms than she could actually handle. This was what she loved, being the object of men's attention. And she certainly had Mark's. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful, most desirable woman in the world, like he'd never seen another like her. Frances reveled in it.

At one time, Frances had an ego roughly the size of Texas. But marriage to Frank Goren had been chipping away at it for years. His unfaithfulness had been the first big blow to her ego, the very thought that she couldn't hold onto her own man was devastating and humiliating. Then there was the gambling, which at times left them so broke she had to scrounge for food for their family, often going to her parents, who never quite let her forget that they'd never approved of him. And the drinking—Frank was not a pleasant drunk. He was mean, and sometimes violent to both her and their two little sons. And he was an embarrassment, she felt shamed when they were out in public. And last, but not least, he left her alone for days at a time, in that little shack he called a home, with two small precocious boys who were always demanding her attention. Like she didn't have more important things to do with her time.

But this weekend, here with Mark, things were different. She had never felt so pampered; he saw to her every little need, a man who appreciated her beauty and intelligence. Just like it used to be. They were staying in a luxury hotel with all the amenities, dining on champagne, caviar and lobster.

Frances held that special dress up to her naked body, taking pleasure in what she saw. Her body was nearly perfect, and would have been had she not had to have the C-section with Bobby. The party tonight was supposed to be huge and glamorous, even some celebrities were expected. She could not wait. This was the life she deserved, not stuck in that little house…but she'd worry about that later, tonight was just going to be the most wonderful night of her life.

After one last admiring glance, she put the dress back in the closet and stepped into the fancy bathtub. She looked at the scar on her stomach and thought of her son Bobby, the cause of it, and once again questioned whose child he really was, Frank's or Mark's? She would never know, of course, and as long as Frank couldn't prove anything and didn't harass her about it, it didn't really matter.

As Frances lathered her body with her special perfumed soap, her thoughts kept returning to that dress and how incredible she was going to look in it. Mark's eyeballs were going to pop when he saw her, along with every other red-blooded male at the party. She wondered how Mark would react if she flirted a bit with the other men? It used to drive Frank crazy, and she enjoyed every minute of it. Tonight she'd find out how Mark would react.

After her bath, she toweled off, looked at her reflection in the mirror again, and lay down on the king size bed for a short cat nap. Just before falling asleep, for some odd reason the image of her two little boys, only seven and four years old, popped into her head. She'd left them home alone for the weekend, deciding before she even left home that they'd be okay. They were smart kids, capable of taking care of themselves. Surely they wouldn't do anything stupid, like set the house on fire…If the thought bothered her at all it didn't show, as she forced the image of her sons out of her mind, and replaced it with one of Mark Ford Brady.

XXX

The rain continued to fall heavily for the second night in a row; they were in the midst of a long line of severe thunderstorms making it's way up the coast. Bobby stood at the window looking out, wondering about it, the rain, the lightening, and the thunder. Already his young mind was in overdrive. "How come," he asked Frankie, "every time it it lightenings it thunders, too?"

Frankie was not inclined to answer. He and Bobby had made it through two days now on their own, and were entering their second night. The boys hadn't bathed, they were dirty, hungry, and scared most of the time. Their latest attempt at cooking had once again resulted in a burned, inedible mess. Their dinner had consisted of bread and jelly, and already they were hungry again.

The kitchen, too, was beginning to show the effects of no adult supervision. It was a mess, pans with burned, stuck on food that would never come off, cups and dishes dumprd in the sink (and livingroom too) spilled cereal all over,and spoiled milk that was left out all night. The rest of the house hadn't fared much better. The two boys had neglected to pick up their toys, or clean up any messes. They were too young and were too busy alternating between playing and being scared to even think about cleaning up.

At one point, Frankie had a great idea. "Wanna have a pillow fight?" he grinned at Bobby. The two of them had often engaged in pillow fights, which were usually stopped by one of their parents before it got out of hand, or someone ended up hurt. Tonight there were no such restraints.

"Okay!" Bobby said eagerly. He ran upstairs to get the pillows. Frankie watched impatiently as Bobby struggled down the stairs with the pillows. Together they were bigger than he was.

"Here," he said, offering Frankie his pillow. Frankie grabbed it and before Bobby, with his injured hand, even had a good grip on his, Frankie hauled off, slamming Bobby in the face with his and knocking him down. Then he stood over Bobby so he couldn't get up, and continued pounding him with the pillow. The most Bobby could do was roll over onto his stomach and put his hands over his head, and yell at Frankie to stop. Frankie finally did stop, saying simply, "I win!" He stepped away from Bobby, and plopped in front of the tv again, a very smug look on his face. Seconds later Bobby came at him with his own pillow, and starting pounding Frankie with it. Both boys were laughing, rolling around and grabbing for the pillow and couldn't have been more surprised when the pillow split and feathers went flying everywhere. They stared in amazement, watching as the feathers flitted down around the room, then started laughing again. After a while the pillow was forgotten as they got interested in a tv program, a cops and robbers show.

Bobby was very impressed, and declared, "I'm gonna be a cop when I get big!" And Frankie said, "I'm gonna be a robber! And you'll hafta catch me!" With that, he started running, and Bobby ran after him, trying to catch him. All this came to a dead stop as the lightening, which had been flashing almost non-stop, must have struck something nearby, resulting in a thunderous boom.

Both boys jumped, scared out of their skins. The rain, which had been falling steadily all night, suddenly came in a downpour, and the wind started howling again. It was just getting to be too much for the little guys, especially as a wind-driven branch crashed through the window. Frankie was now on the verge of tears and this upset Bobby. "Why ya crying, Frankie?" he asked.

"I'm not," Frankie lied, not wanting Bobby to be any more scared than he already was. "My eyes are just waterin'."

"Oh," was all Bobby said. Then there was another boom, and they both sat stock still. "I want Daddy," Bobby whispered, thinking his big father would protect them. "And Mommy." He was much too young to be separated from his parents for so long and under these conditions and he missed his mother. They both did. The fact that they had no adults to protect or comfort them during the storms didn't help.

"They're not here," Frankie said, stating the obvious.

"But I _**want**_ them!" Bobby demanded, tears welling up in his own eyes.

"They're NOT HERE!" Frankie didn't know what to do anymore.

XXX

Frances was in her glory. She was still a very attractive woman, and tonight proved it; men were falling all over her. She loved it, and just couldn't help herself, she flirted with them all.

The only one who wasn't enjoying it was her lover, Mark. Although he showed no outward signs of it, on the inside he was seething. He had really taken a shine to Frances, of all his women she was the one he was most taken with. Given a chance, he could have loved her. But not now. Now she had proven herself to be as slutty and worthless as all the others. No one showed him up like this, _**no one.**_ She would pay for this, the fucking bitch.

Frances noticed that all her flirting was having absolutely no effect on Mark. Obviously she wasn't trying hard enough. Now every man she danced with she rewarded with a full mouth kiss, and the men loved it. Mark did not.

At last, just after midnight, the party wore down. Frances was really kind of glad; she couldn't wait to get back into her own room with Mark. After tonight, he'd realize just what a catch she was. Maybe she'd even separate from Frank, who knows, and stay with Mark.

Taking Mark's hand, she led him upstairs to their room, anticipating a night of incredible love making. As they entered the room, he suddenly spun her around and smashed his fist into her face, knocking her down. Taken completely by surprise, and somewhat dazed, she tried to get back to her feet. Mark reached down to help her up, and once again slammed her in the face. Only now did she realize.

"Mark—" After a kick to her body, she was suddenly scrambling to get to the door. But there was no way she was getting out. He caught her and threw her onto the bed, and himself onto her. He grabbed her by the face and squeezed so hard it felt like his hand was breaking right through the skin.

"Not a word," he whispered into her ear, "not one fucking word." With that, he literally ripped the special dress from her body, tearing it purposely into pieces. For the rest of the night he alternately raped and beat her. Before long, she was a mass of black and blue bruises. She begged him, in whispers, to stop, but he had no intention of stopping. The suave and charming Mark Ford Brady was long gone, replaced by some kind of monster.

Along with the physical pain, he found ways to torture her mentally. He degraded her, calling her the worst kind of slut, one who cheated on her husband and lover both. He called her an even worse mother, a mother who would leave her young children alone for a weekend of sleazy sex, and even hinted that someday he would steal _his_ son Bobby from her. He didn't want Bobby, he told her, he didn't have any use for a brat, but she didn't deserve him, either, so he would just take Bobby and find somewhere to dump him. (A few years later, after she became sick, these words which had been implanted in her brain would come back to her and in her demented mind she would imagine Bobby being stolen by demons.)

Mark finally left in the early morning hours, warning her not to tell a soul about this. Lying there on the floor, after another beating, she took him seriously. Frances was seriously injured. The only reason she was found was because of the housekeeping woman, who had come to change the sheets and clean the room. Instead of the hotel calling for a doctor, Frances would only allow them to call her mother. And the hotel, anxious to keep the scandal quiet, eagerly complied.

XXX

The ringing of the phone finally roused the boys who had fallen asleep in the living room, both boys lying haphazardly on the couch. Bobby pulled himself up and answered it, followed by Frankie. "Hullo?" he said sleepily.

_Bobby?_

"Gramma? Hi, Gramma!" Bobby was so happy to hear just the sound of an adult family member's voice.

_Bobby, listen to me, put your father on the phone, please. Immediately!_

"Gramma, where's Mommy? I want Mommy!'

_**Bobby, honey, go get your father**__._ This time the voice was a little sterner.

"Daddy's not here. He's playing wif' the horses. And I hurt my hand, and the lights went out, and a wolfman came, and—"

_Bobby! Put Frankie on the phone! Now!_

Bobby turned and gave the phone to Frankie, who was trying to hear anyway.

"Yes, Gramma?"

_Frankie! What in God's name is going on there? And where is your father?_

"I dunno." Frankie was reluctant to snitch on his father.

_Is he playing the horses again? And how long has he been gone? I need to speak to him immediately—_The clicking of the phone told her they were cut off; she thought accidently, but actually done purposely by Frankie, a little trick he had learned watching his dad evade loan sharks and bill collectors.

"If the phone rings, don't answer it," Frankie instructed his little brother. "It's just Gramma, and she's mad at Daddy again!"

Immediately the phone started ringing, and the look on Frankie's face and the upturned fist (another trick learned from Daddy) dared Bobby to answer it. He didn't, and soon the ringing phone became still and quiet.

Both boys stared at the phone, not sure what to do next.

"Where's Mommy?" Bobby asked again. "I want Mommy."

Everything just seemed all wrong.

tbc

A/N In this version of the story, Mark Ford Brady fathered Bobby. This may or may not be true, but there is at least a 50/50 chance. MFB sure seemed to think so. Anyway, that's how it goes for this story.

.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N Very sorry for the long delay--I have been suffering through a major bout of writer's block, for quite some time now, and I still am. I appreciate every one sticking with this.

The Way It Was Chapter 12

The storms of the night before had left their mark in a big way. There were downed power lines, uprooted trees, and minor flooding. The skies were still overcast and dark, and a light rain still fell. But the worst of it was over.

Little Bobby stared out the window at the water flowing down the street, amazed at Mother Nature's transformation. "Look, Frankie! It looks like the ocean!" And it did look a little like the ocean, with the water rushing forward and tumbling over the debris caught in its wake, making little waves.

Frankie, who had been sniffling all morning, followed his brother to the window. "It's not the ocean, it's just a bunch of rain," he told Bobby peevishly.

"I'm gonna get my boat!" Bobby took off for his room, looking for his little sailboat in his closet. When Bobby returned, Frankie was still at the window, wondering whether he wanted to go outside in this still nasty and cold rainy weather. But Bobby's enthusiasm was catching. He went to the hall closet, and pulled out two yellow raincoats, one for him and a smaller one for Bobby, complete with rainhats.

"Here, put this on," he told Bobby, then went to get his own boat.

Soon both boys were ready to go, boats in hand, rain hats on their curly heads. Neither had a regular coat on, or boots, finding it fun to just slosh through the water in their sneakers, racing their boats, and splashing each other. If the weather hadn't been so bad this would have made for a great day, a perfectly normal thing for two little boys to do. They played for quite some time, having so much fun they chose to ignore how very cold they were.

Down the street, looking out through her window, old Mrs. Maggio clucked to herself and said to her husband, "Just look at that. Those two little boys…"

Mr. Maggio pulled the curtains apart even further to look over her shoulder, and shook his head. "If that was our boys, they wouldn't be sitting down for a week."

"Nah," she said, "it's not the boys. They're too young, it's their mother. She doesn't watch them. Never did."

"Now, Marie—"

"Oh, you think she's perfect just cause she's young and pretty? Stupid old man! Go get them, Phil, before they catch their death of cold." Phil sighed; knowing there was no use in arguing with his wife when she'd made up her mind, and he got his coat and cap.

Five minutes later, Phil, Frankie and Bobby stood in the kitchen, all three dripping water all over Marie's sparkling clean floor. Marie scolded and fussed over them, and as Phil and Frankie removed their wet outer ware, Marie helped Bobby with his.

"You poor little things," she said as she checked the soup on the stove, "you must be so cold."

"I—I—I'm n-not…c-cold," Bobby declared through chattering teeth and blue lips.

"M-Me either," Frankie agreed. He didn't look a whole lot better.

While Phil got himself and the boys settled around the table, Marie put a bowl of steaming hot tomato soup in front of each of them. "Be careful, boys" she told them, "It's hot." Then, looking at her husband, whom she cared for very much, "You, too, Phil."

"Quit treating me like a child!" he complained, but secretly he loved the attention she showed him.

And the boys blew on their soup to make it cool faster. Both were very hungry. Marie also put mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows next to their soup.

"Thank you, ma'am," Frankie said very formally.

"I like hot choc late!" Bobby chirped happily, "and the mushrooms, too!"

Phillip Maggio laughed. "That's a good one! Hot chocolate and mushrooms!"

Marie tsked again. "Stop it Phil! You know what the boy meant!"

"Ah, I'm just playin'. He's so happy drinking that stuff he doesn't even know I said anything."

Then Phil noticed Bobby's hand. "What did ya do to your hand, Bobby?"

"I burn-ed," Bobby said shyly.

"Here, let me take a look—"

"It don't hurt no more," Bobby lied, putting his hand in his pocket. "The wolfman—he fix-ed it."

Phil chuckled. "I see someone else stayed up late the other night and watched the movie."

Bobby nodded vigorously.

After a while Frankie looked up from his soup and said, "My throat hurts. It hurts to swollo." And Bobby said, "My head hurts. A whole bunch."

Marie sighed. She got up and went to feel their foreheads. "I knew it. Phil, they've both got fevers." She thought for a moment, knowing they had no children's medicine in their home. "I guess we could give them each half an aspirin…"

"Marie! You're not their mother. They live right down the street, let their mother take care of them. We can't be giving them any medicine, it could do more harm than good. I'll take them home as soon as they've finished eating."

Marie humphed. "Their mother," she said under her breath. "They need to be taken away from her." They watched as the boys, despite being sick, hungrily ate the soup, and Marie asked them about their mother.

"She's sleeping," Frankie said, unknowingly making Marie even angrier with her.

"And your father?"

"Daddy's playing wif horses," Bobby said, swallowing his soup. "Daddy always plays wif horses."

Marie had no idea what Bobby was talking about, but Phil did, and wisely kept it to himself. Marie filled their bowls again, and watched as the boys wolfed it down.

Sometime later, back at their house, Bobby suddenly got a strange look on his face. "Frankie, my belly—" Before he had a chance to get out another word, his entire lunch came up. Seconds later, Frankie's did the same. Frankie tried to drag Bobby into the bathroom, but it was too late, Bobby threw up again. Soon both boys were heaving, feverish, and crying, feeling terribly sick. And there was no one there to take care of them.



Hours later, a very drunk and disgruntled Frank Goren literally stumbled into the house, swearing as he tripped over one of the kids' wet shoes. The sight that met him _almost_ sobered him up. Both boys were asleep on the sofa, coughing and sick, and both were wearing their still-damp clothes. There was the unmistakable smell of vomit. A little pile of raincoats, hats, and shoes lay in a wet puddle by the door. Toys and books were scattered all over, and there were even some greasy potato chips crushed into the floor.

"What the—" Frank said angrily. One thing he demanded was a clean house, even if he did nothing to help keep it that way. He stalked over to his sons and jerked both of them up, shoving them towards the mess. "Clean it up! Now!" He gave them each a hard smack in the back of the head for good measure.

"Daddy--" Frankie started, but was cut off.

"Shut up! Do as you're told!" He grabbed for Bobby. "And you, get me a beer."

Bobby, still a little green, scampered off to the kitchen, and got a beer out of the refrigerator. He hurried back to his father.

"Here, Daddy," Bobby said, holding up the beer. Frank took the beer, and noticed Bobby's bandaged hand, now filthy and wet and only partially still on his hand. He grabbed his hand roughly, causing Bobby to cry out.

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded.

Bobby, now scared of his father, did his best not to cry. "I--I burn-ed my hand," he said, so softly Frank couldn't hear him.

This only made Frank angrier. He jerked his arm up and ripped off the bandage. Even Frank had to wince when he saw Bobby's hand, which was now raw. "What the hell happened to your hand? And where's your mother, huh? Frances!" he called his absent wife. When she didn't answer, he pushed Bobby away and went searching.

"Frances!" he bellowed, entering the kitchen, where he stopped in shock. The burned pots were still sitting on the stove; spoiled milk was sitting on the counter along with the dirty dishes. And the floor was muddy. He was infuriated. Then he headed to the bedroom, prepared to yank his lazy sleeping wife out of the bed. Only she wasn't there. _What the_ _hell?_ Where the fuck was she, and what was going on with their kids? Then he suddenly remembered—his stash! He hurried to his closet, and pulled out what was left of his stash, which was only the little bit the boys had put back in from their little con the other day. He became enraged, and stalked back into the living room, where Frankie and Bobby were cleaning up as fast as they could. He caught the smell of the vomit again, but was too preoccupied to pay it any attention.

"Where is she?!"

Both boys jumped.

"Where. Is. Your. Mother?" he said in a low slow growl.

"With Uncle Mark," Frankie said, then went into a coughing fit.

That Bitch!! That Whore!! She obviously stole his money, and left with that freak Brady. He was now completely sobered up, and was doing his best to control his temper, or he'd never find out any details. "When did she leave?"

"Don't know," Bobby said. But Frankie did. "She left Friday, Daddy, in the morning. With Uncle Mark."

_Friday? Was she freaking nuts? She left the kids...? Stupid bitch! _Frank was feeling very righteous, although in truth, he wouldn't have worried about the kids, either.

"She said you was playing wif the horses again," Frankie continued unnecessarily, "so she was going with Uncle Mark. Are you mad, Daddy?"

Frank, who was totally consumed with white-hot rage, didn't bother answering his son's question. He had too many of his own.

In an effort to take his mind off his wife, he grabbed Bobby's wrist tightly, making him sqirm in pain."How'd you burn your hand?"

"C—Cookin," Bobby answered. Frank jerked his arm, and said angrily, "What the hell were you doing cooking?" Although Frankie was obviously the chosen child, and he still wasn't sure Bobby was even his, Frank had no desire to see this child playing with fire and possibly killing himself or burning down the house.

"I wanted ba-sketti—"

"I told him, Daddy!" Frankie piped up, anxious to get back in his father's good graces. "I told him, but he don't listen!"

"I know," Frank agreed with him. "Bobby doesn't know how to listen, do you Bobby?"

Bobby shook his head, agreeing with his father. Then he hung his head, averting his eyes, feeling very ashamed. But Frank wasn't going to let it go. He took Bobby's chin and forced him to look at him. "You better start listening, you hear me?"

Bobby nodded as best he could.

"You know I have to punish you now, right?"

Bobby lowered his eyes again. "Yes. You hafta beat my ass."

Frank stared at his son, then shook his head. He blamed the kid's inappropriate language on their mother, like he did everything else. She was their mother; it was up to her to see that they were brought up properly. But he had other things to worry about now. He knew Bobby's hand was in serious need of attention; it was already starting to get infected. But he had no plans to take Bobby to the hospital and have to explain _**this**_ one. He thought about the situation the kids had been in all weekend, and the serious ramifications that could result if anyone found out. Once again, he would have to _**stress **_to his children that no one was ever to know about this.

"This is one of our family deals, he told them. " You got that? Both of you?" Frankie and Bobby nodded emphatically. But Frank wasn't sure. "What's it mean, a family deal?" he asked Bobby.

"It means…" Bobby struggled to get it right, "that we can't tell nobody." He looked up at his father expectantly, hoping…

"That's right," Frank told him. "You got that, too, Frankie?"

"Yes, Daddy, like a secret--" He went into another coughing fit. Frank frowned, he wasn't sure what to do, or even if he should do anything, having never done anything previously for his children in the way of personal care.

Frank decided to do nothing, but cleaned Bobby's hand none too gently (boys could handle stuff like this, he wasn't raising any sissies). Tears were in Bobby's eyes and he was sniffling by the time Frank put ointment on his little hand and bandaged it. Then a thought occurred to him. Neither of these kids could have bandaged Bobby's hand like that…so who did?

"Bobby, who fixed your hand before?"

"The wolfman." He liked the wolfman, and wanted his dad to like him too, like Mr. Maggio did.

Frank scowled at him. He didn't like these stories this kid was starting to make up. "Bobby, I asked you a question. Now who fixed up your hand? And don't you even _think_ about lying."

Bobby looked confused; he had no idea what his father meant. "The wolfman did, Daddy."

Frank closed his eyes for a minute, trying to maintain his control. Then he opened them. "One last time, Bobby, lie and I'm gonna knock you into next week. WHO FIXED YOUR HAND?"

Now Bobby didn't know what to say or why his father kept asking him when he already told him. He looked to Frankie for help, but Frankie wouldn't even look at him.

"Bobby?" Frank was set to give Bobby a good backhand if he lied again.

"The wolfman did, Daddy," Bobby said very softly. Then his expression changed. "Daddy, my belly—"

Frank, with his drunken hangovers, knew all about throwing up, and said, "Ah, shit!" He grabbed Bobby up, and flew into the bathroom, but too late. A second later, Bobby threw up again.

Watching Bobby, Frank realized he was out of his element. _Where the fuck was_ _Frances? _

Later that evening, the kids were in bed, both with buckets in case they threw up again. This time they at least felt a little more secure, and Frankie was feeling sick and somewhat pleased. Bobby just felt sick.

"I watched ya good, huh?" Frankie said, proud that he had taken such good care of his little brother.

Bobby nodded, then hugged Frankie, who pushed him away…after a little while.



Downstairs, Frank finally had a little time to wonder about his wife. He was unbelievably angry with her, angrier than he'd ever been. He was convinced she was the one who took his money, which was a lucky break for Bobby. An ass beating for lying was one thing; if Frank ever found out what had really happened to the money…

Just as Frank was building himself into an incredible rage, the phone rang. Frank picked it up. "Frances?"

There was silence on the line for just a second. Then, "Frank! Thank God!"

Frank recognized the voice of his mother-in-law. "Where's Frances? Is she there?"

"Yes—"

"Christ! She's been gone all frigging weekend! I come home to a filthy house, filthy kids, both of them sick, one of them hurt, the house nearly burned down—"

"Frank! Shut up and let me talk! Yes, Frances is here. But something is wrong—very wrong. She's all beat up, I can't get through to her…she won't talk, even look at me…Frank, I think she's been raped."

tbc


	13. Chapter 13

The Way It Was Chapter 13

A/N After seeing "Frame" it turns out that Brady is officially Bobby's dad, which is what I based this story on.

"Raped?" Frank stood there with his mouth hanging open, totally confused. "But…"

"Frank, please. Just come here. She's not responding to me at all. She's just crying, and she's hurt. Just come here. Now."

_Fucking great,_ Frank thought to himself. Then to Rose, "I can't. I got two sick kids, what am I supposed to do? Drag them out in this weather to go see…" _my_ _cheating wife._ He didn't mention that last part to Rose.

"Get a babysitter. When you _want_ to go out—you have no problem getting someone."

"Alright, alright! I'll be there."

"I would think you'd care just a little bit for your wife—" Abruptly the phone clicked off. Rose wasn't a bit surprised, but it still made her angry.

Frank wasn't too happy himself. He didn't believe a word of it, and the last thing he wanted to do was to have to get out again. _And Frances…raped…?_ _Who was she trying to kid? The kids already said she went willingly with that bastard Brady. Wonder what kind of little game she's playing now? _

But rather than incur his mother-in-law's wrath, he did as she suggested, he decided to get a baby sitter for the boys. There _was_ that pretty girl down the street…

Soon, Frank had Sarah Morgan at the house, all ready to babysit Mr. Goren's two precocious little boys. Sarah was eighteen, out of school and looking for a job. Not particularly as a babysitter, but this would help till she got that job. She was also rather impressed by Frank, who could charm his way out of his own hanging. In fact, she was more than impressed, she had a major crush on Frank. If only he wasn't married…

"Your little boys are soooo cute," she gushed, "especially that little Bobby. And Frankie is so handsome…he looks just like you."

Frank smiled at that. "You think so? I always thought so, too. _Unlike Bobby_. He_ is_ a handsome little guy, isn't he?"

"Yes." She wasn't sure what else to say. "Um, you said they were sick? So they're in bed already?"

"Yeah, guess that makes for an easy night for you. You just gotta stay here, do what you want…uh, you got a boyfriend?" When Sarah shook her head no, Frank smiled again. "That's good, cause we wouldn't want any boys here now, would we?"

When Sarah shook her head again, Frank said, "Besides, you're too old for 'boys.' A good looking young woman like you deserves a real man."

Sarah just blushed and laughed. _God, he was handsome._ Frank gave her another smile and was on his way, off to his mother-in-law's house. The more he thought about Frances, the angrier he got.

However, once he got to Rose's house, he was quite unprepared for the sight that met him. If he didn't know the person in the bed was Frances… her face was nearly unrecognizable. She was facing the wall, she wouldn't look at him, and what he could see of her face was a collage of black, blue and purple. Her left eye was swollen shut, and her lips were split and swollen, too. All he could currently see were her face and arms, but he was pretty sure the rest of her body didn't look a whole lot better.

"Frances?" he asked quietly. "What the fuck…" When she didn't respond and continued to stare at the wall he turned to look at Rose, who stood there scowling at him.

"You are so crude," she told him. She then told him what she knew, that the hotel called her on behalf of Frances, who had refused to allow a doctor or anyone else to see her. However, once home, Rose had called her personal doctor, who had finally examined her. Frances had barely moved, and not made any eye contact.

"So what now?" Frank asked.

"I'll tell you what happens," Doctor Welles broke in. "She needs to be in the hospital. She's got at least two broken ribs, possibly a concussion, and God knows what else."

Rose nodded her assent, followed by Frank.

"But," he continued, "as bad as her physical injuries are, I'm much more worried about her mental state. She's going to have a hard time."

"What do you mean?" Frank asked.

"Well, whatever happened to her, and she _was_ raped, has had a very traumatic effect on her. We'll probably keep her in the hospital for a few days to a week to evaluate her. And take if from there."

_Great_, Frank thought again. _That means I'm stuck with the damn kids._ But already an idea was forming in his head. Maybe he could pay Sarah to stay at the house…

Doctor Welles had called for an ambulance, and they readied Frances for the ride there.

Rose decided to go to the hospital with Frances until she got settled in. She figured Frank wouldn't be much help, and probably more of a hindrance. "Frank, I'll go to the hospital with Frances. Why don't you go home with the boys for tonight?"

"Yeah, okay," Frank said, watching as Frances was put in the ambulance, then and the ambulance took off.

"And Frank? Do _not_ tell the children what happened, they are way too young, and don't need to know. Try to make it easy on them."

"Alright," he agreed.

When Frank arrived home later, he already had other things on his mind. Walking through the door, he stopped cold as he saw Bobby sitting on the couch next to Sarah. And he saw Mark Ford Brady in the form of his little son. Once again the thought occurred to him that Brady was his father, and not him. Some day he'd find a way to prove it, and right now, hatred boiled up inside of him for the man.

Bobby saw Frank and climbed down and ran to his dad. "Hi, Daddy!"

Frank totally ignored him, other than to demand of Sarah, "What's he doing up? And where's Frankie?"

"Frankie's still in bed, but Bobby…he was really sick, Mr. Goren. I had to give him some medicine. He's so hot. Is…is that okay?"

"Daddy, I was sick," Bobby said softly, holding on to his father's pants leg and looking up at him lovingly. His dark eyes were glazed with fever. Frank pushed him off and pulled away from him, extremely agitated. He didn't even look at Bobby.

"Daddy, where's Mommy? When's Mommy coming back?"

"Please take him back to bed," he told Sarah, "And next time he's in bed, make sure he stays there!"

"Yes, Mr. Goren, I'm sorry." Sarah didn't understand what Bobby had done wrong.

"Not your fault. He knows better." He watched Sarah as she took Bobby's hand and took him to his bed.

Covering him up, she said, "Be a good boy, Bobby. Your daddy seems kind of mad. So stay in bed till he says, okay?"

Bobby smiled at her. "K," he said, then "G'night, Sarah."

Sara tousled his curls, and then kissed his forehead, which was still very warm. She could feel his body heat right through his pajamas. Bobby turned on his side and snuggled deeper into the covers and she said, "Night, Bobby. Be good."

As she returned to the liviing room she asked. "How's Mrs. Goren?"

"She's…not too good," Frank replied. "She was in a, uh, a car wreck. She'll probably be in the hospital for a while."

"Really? That's a shame. Is she going to be alright?"

"Eventually," Frank said.

Sarah nodded, picked up her purse, and waited. Frank was staring at her, and suddenly remembered. "Oh, yeah, sorry!" He pulled out a ten dollar bill. "That enough?"

"Oh, yes, thank you!" Sarah really hadn't expected that much.

"Sarah, you got a moment? There's something I'd like to ask you. "

"Yes?"

"Sit down a minute," he gestured to the couch. Once seated, he said, "I think you do a great job with the kids, and I was wondering if you'd consider taking them on for a full week?"

"You mean, every day, or every night?"

"Well, both, actually."

"Both? How could I?"

"Well, see, here's what I need. Like I said, the kids' mom is gonna be in the hospital for a week, maybe longer. And I'm going to be in and out. So I'd need you to stay over, for the whole time."

Sarah looked shocked. "You mean, live here? With you?"

Frank laughed. "No, not move in. Just stay here for a week or so. You could sleep in my room; I'll take the couch when I'm here…"

"I…I don't know…" Truth be told, Sarah secretly loved the idea, and would actually enjoy it, although she felt a little guilty about Frank's wife.

"What about your wife? She won't mind?"

"She's pretty out of it. And she'd want someone taking care of her boys."

"I guess so. Let me check with my mom, to make sure. But she won't care." Which was the truth; Sarah was allowed to do pretty much as she pleased.

"Great," Frank said.

The next day Sarah Morgan moved in.

Somehow, Frank managed to get up and get Frankie ready for school. Frankie looked a whole lot better, and Frank insisted he go to school. He had big expectations for his older son. Bobby was still feverish.

"You okay now?" Frank asked Frankie.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm not puking any more," Frankie said. "Dad, where's Ma? How come she ain't back yet? And where's Uncle Mark?"

Just the mention of Mark's name got Frank's blood boiling again. "Mom was in a car wreck."

Frankie gasped. "Is Mommy dead?" he asked fearfully. Bobby was smart enough to realize what they were talking about. "Do the angels have Mommy?" he asked. He looked like he might cry.

"Ha!" Frank snorted. "That's the last place she'd be!" His sarcasm was lost on the four year old.

"Look," he told them both, wanting to get it over with. "Your Mom was in a wreck, but she's fine. She's gonna have to stay in the hospital for a while though."

"Why?" Bobby asked, tears springing to his eyes.

"Yeah, why?" Frankie continued. "If she's okay, why can't she come home?"

"Just because," Frank told them.

He fixed both boys cold cereal, and after that Frank practically pushed him out the door. Bobby was lingering over his cereal as Frank put Frankie's bowl in the sink, and took Bobby's from him. "I haven't got all day," he grumbled.

Then Sarah arrived. "Hi, Frank. Hi, Bobby. How do you feel today?"

"He's okay," Frank said, dismissing her concern, despite the fact Bobby still had a fever. "C'mere," Frank motioned to the spot next to him on the couch. "We'll discuss your duties."

Sarah sat on the couch next to him, and before long they were a little closer than necessary. Sarah suddenly became aware of Bobby watching them. As young as he was, something about this scene bothered him, but he had no idea what.

"Daddy…" he was a little hesitant.

"Mr. Goren…Frank…maybe we shouldn't…" Sarah started.

"It'll be okay," Frank answered, getting up and stalking over to Bobby. He picked Bobby up and took him to his room, putting him onto his bed. "You're gonna be playing in your room for a while today, Pal. Got it?"

Bobby was very disappointed, but knew better than to argue. He nodded his head.

Frank then left the room, closing the door behind him. As an afterthought, he locked it. _No sense taking chances._

Coming out to the living room he sat closely with Sarah. "Problem solved," he said. "Now let's talk about some of your new duties here."

tbc


	14. Chapter 14

The Way It Was Chapter 14

The next couple of days continued as before. As soon as Frankie was off to school Frank and Sarah were at it, after putting Bobby in his own room.

Bobby no longer liked it. Not that he really ever liked it at all, but at the beginning he tolerated it. At first it was okay, he would play with his army men, and read the few children's books that he had. Now he was bored. This morning when his father put him in his room, he protested.

"No! I don't wanna be in my room—"

Frank took Bobby's chin in his hand and forced him to look at him. "_You're_ going to argue with me?" he laughed. Bobby tried to pull away, but Frank held him tighter, staring at him. "You're going in your room and you're staying in there until I say. Got it?"

"No."

Frank looked at him in shock. Rarely did _anyone_ argue with him, and this _four year old_ was going to? Not on his shift. He raised his hand to smack him, when he felt Sarah by his side, and dropped his hand.

"Frank—don't," she told him.

Now Frank stared at her. "This has nothing to do with you, Sarah. Mind your own business." He started to turn back to Bobby.

"When I'm here it is my business! Your children _are _my business. Please don't hit them..." Sarah was very upset.

"Stay out of it, Sarah!"

"You want me to leave?" she asked smugly, as she unbuttoned the first 3 buttons of her blouse. Both Frank and Bobby stood there watching, until Frank suddenly woke up.

"Shit, Sarah! Cover up!" Frank was embarrassed to have Bobby watching all this. And Bobby did notice.

"Daddy, why is Sarah—" he started, but Frank grabbed his arm and finished taking him to his room. He didn't raise his hand to Bobby again, just deposited him on the bed.

Looking at his tousled-haired little boy, he told him, "We'll talk about this later." Bobby glared at his father, as indignant as a four year old could get. Then Frank left, locking the door behind him.

Bobby hurriedly got off his bed, and tried to open the door. When it wouldn't open, he kicked it, more than a few times.

Once again Frank was amazed. Where the hell was this defiance coming from? Seeing the look on his face, Sarah stopped him again.

"C'mon, Frankie, don't worry about him. He's okay—"

"Did you hear what he did? He—"

"He's probably bored, Frank. You've made him stay in there everyday. Just come on, he'll get over it."

Reluctantly, Frank agreed, but he had a bad feeling about this. Bobby's little show of defiance worried him, especially since he was so young. Nope, this little stunt was not going to happen again. As he and Sarah started back for the bedroom, Bobby continued to kick and bang on the door, trying to get his father to come back.

Frank soon forgot about his little curly-haired son in his room as he got engrossed with Sarah in his own room. Sarah was completely enthralled with him. It didn't take long before his and Frances' bed soon became his and Sarah's bed.

Frances' recovery was very slow. It had been a few days now, and she still failed to respond to anyone. Rose was extremely troubled, and worried; this was so unlike her outgoing sociable butterfly of a daughter.

They brought a psychiatrist in to see her, but even he couldn't get through to her. Finally, after debating whether it would be damaging to the children, he suggested bringing in her sons, thinking they might be able to elicit some kind of a response, or anything at all from her.

Rose was torn; she wasn't sure if seeing their mother like that was good for the boys, especially Bobby, with him being so young and impressionable. In the end it was decided by all that they should just bring Frankie, he was old enough to understand. Perhaps her perceived chosen son could do what they could not.

The next morning Sarah helped dress the boys, Frankie wore his white long sleeve shirt and tie that he wore to school every day, basically his Catholic school uniform, and Bobby, who wasn't going, wore his usual outfit, a striped tee shirt with his denim overalls. Sarah combed their unruly curls, and pronounced both of them "perfect little gentlemen." That got a shy smile from Bobby, and a big grin from Frankie.

Finally it was time to go. Frankie knew it was a big deal that he was the one to get to see their mother and he lorded it over his little brother. "I'm gonna go see Mom," he told Bobby proudly. You can't go, 'cause you're too little. Right, Daddy?" he looked at his father.

"Let's go, Frankie," was all Frank said.

Bobby immediately protested. "I wanna see Mommy! I wanna go, too!"

"Well, you can't," Frank told him, fixing him with a hard stare.

"Yes, I can! I WANT to see Mommy! I'm big now!"

"Sarah," Frank said, eyes still on Bobby, "_Will you please take care of him so_ _Frankie and I can leave?"_ He started out the door with Frankie.

"Yes…of course," Sarah replied, somewhat offended by his sarcasm, and took Bobby's hand. "Come on, Bobby—"

But Bobby was having none of it. He jerked his hand out of hers, and ran after them. He caught up with them just as Frankie climbed into the front seat. Frank turned, just in time to catch Bobby. "Oh, no, you don't." Bobby struggled in his arms. "I wanna see Mommy!"

Frankie got out of the car and stared at them as big Frank took Bobby back to the house. Once inside he glared at Sarah and handed Bobby over to her. "You think you can keep an eye on him?" he asked her harshly.

Arriving at the hospital, Frankie suddenly became afraid. "I don't wanna go in," he whined. Frank sighed. One kid cried to go, the other didn't want to go. What the heck did he do in life to deserve all this? Life had really dealt him a bad hand. He took Frankie's hand roughly and led him into the hospital.

The doctor, Frank, Rose and Jim had all agreed to meet in the little family room at the end of the hall. Frankie ran to his grandmother, who hugged and kissed him, then turned to his grandfather, who ruffled his hair and hugged him.

"Ready to see your mother?" the doctor asked him. Frankie stood behind his dad shyly, and shook his head slowly.

Rose moved over to her grandson and put her arms around him. "Honey, it's all right, your mother wants to see you."

Frankie shook his head, "don't wanna."

Big Frank was a little embarrassed. They ended up coercing Frankie into the room, but he still hung back. Finally Frank forcibly took him to the bed.

"Frances," Rose said, trying to get her to focus, "Here's little Frankie." At first there was still no response, then. after a few more tries, Frances slowly turned to her son. Frankie was visibly shocked when he saw his mother, all battered and bruised, and started to cry. Hearing her son crying, Frances gingerly held out her arms to him, very weakly. Frank pushed him closer, and he finally leaned in and hugged his mother. Before long he was sitting on the bed holding his mother's hand, and Frances slowly began to respond.

For the rest of the day, Frances held on to Frankie, crying when he left. She never once asked for or mentioned her little son Bobby.

A few hours later, Sarah peeked into the living room where Bobby had finally fallen asleep on the floor. Normally a very light sleeper, he appeared even more agitated. She sat down next to him, and wondered if he'd cried himself to sleep. She found herself feeling sorry for him, and brushed her fingers through his tousled curly hair. Then she picked him up, and pulled him to her, hugging him close, and Bobby, who'd been dreaming about his sick mother, roused, somewhat confused. At first he thought his mother was holding him.

"Mommy?" he said sleepily.

Sarah hugged him even tighter. "Yes, Bobby," she told him softly. "I'll be your Mommy." Secretly, she had started to wonder what it would be like to be Frank's wife, and the mother of his children. She already loved his sons, and the idea of a built in little family appealed to her. Her own family had been pretty messed up, but if she thought this family was any better she was very mistaken. She had an idea that once Frank's wife returned, she'd be out the door in a flash. But in the meantime she could play her little games.

It turned out that after Frances had recovered enough to be released from the hospital, Rose insisted she come home with her. She figured that was the only way her daughter would get the proper care and attention she needed to fully recover, without two little boys bothering and harassing her. This meant that Bobby and Frankie would not be seeing much of their mother for a while, except for a very occasional visit. Frankie, with school and other interests, adjusted a little better than Bobby, who, at four years old, still needed his mother. He was lost.

tbc


	15. Chapter 15

The Way It Was Chapter 15

Sarah continued to take care of Frank's two young sons during the day and even better care of Frank during the night. She liked the two boys well enough, but her first priority was Frank. It was pretty understandable why women seemed to fall for him. Frank definitely had the looks. And now, he had her. Or so she thought.

Bobby's hand continued to heal, thanks to Sarah's daily ministrations. She wasn't crazy about doing it, but she figured that was what a real mother would do. She put ointment on it every day, and bandaged it until it finally scabbed over. She did like listening to his story about the wolfman and the storm. "Bobby, you have such a vivid imagination!" she laughed. Bobby wasn't sure what that meant, but it must be good, since Sarah was smiling.

Frank didn't think it was so neat. "Vivid imagination? You mean it's more like a con. Can't believe he's got you fooled, too." At Sarah's scowl, he added, "Yeah, that's right. Everybody in this house lets him get away with murder. That's all right, he starts school next year. Those nuns will take care of that, and a few more things, too.

"Oh, I'll be gone for awhile, probably overnight. Don't wait up for me."

Sarah looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because I have a job, Sarah, and I have to be gone overnight sometimes. Why, you jealous?" he grinned at her.

"No, I—" She knew she had to be careful. She didn't want to lose him already.

"You _are_," he laughed. "It's alright, Sarah, I promise." Trying to reassure her, he looked to Bobby. "Tell her, Bobby."

"Yep!" Bobby said, happy to find himself in a good position with his father. "Daddy goes away all'o time!"

That didn't exactly relieve Sarah, but she said nothing. Frank knew, though. He liked to leave them wondering, usually made them appreciate him more. Well, except for Frances. She always had to be the exception.

Before Frank left, Bobby tugged on his pants leg. "Daddy, I wanna go see Mommy."

"Later," he said, brushing him off.

His father pushed him away once again, and then gave Sarah a peck on the cheek, and was gone. Sarah watched him, a little angry. Was he taking advantage of her? Here she was, taking care of his sons every day, cleaning up, cooking, even _doctoring_ Bobby's hand. If she didn't love Frank so much…

Bobby had stood and watched as his father gave Sarah that little kiss on the cheek, and then left. His big brown eyes had never looked sadder.

After Frank left, Sarah noticed and said, "What's wrong with _you,_ Bobby?" She wasn't feeling especially sorry for him, considering her own current mood.

Now he just stared down at his feet, not wishing to talk. Bobby couldn't put into words what was troubling him. He missed his mother terribly, and his father…he couldn't figure out what it was about his father. He just felt sad and very alone. Finally he voiced the only feeling he could put into words. "I want Mommy."

Sarah finally felt a little pity, and took him in her arms, and held him to her. "I know you do, Bobby, but I'll take care of you. If your mommy ever left and never came back, I would be your Mommy. Would you like me to be your Mommy? Her words confused him even more.

He pushed away. "You're not my Mommy!"

"I know I'm—"

"No! I want my real Mom!" He broke completely away from her and ran to the door. Before she could stop him, he took one last look at her and pulled open the door. Then he was gone.

Sarah ran to the door, calling his name. But Bobby wasn't stopping. He was already half way down the street and into some high bushes. With narrowed eyes she watched as he disappeared from sight. _If you think I'm going to chase after you, __**little boy**__…._ She closed the door and went angrily to the couch where she lit a cigarette. Something told her she might have to rethink her options.

xxx

Bobby just took off running, he had no idea where he was going, he just wanted to keep going. He was very upset; he hadn't seen his mother in a long time and things were different in his home. Which made for one very confused little boy. After wandering around a bit, he somehow ended up on the steps of his friend's house. He knocked softly on the door, uncertain of whether he really wanted anyone to open that door or not. He had just about changed his mind, and started to turn around when the door suddenly jerked open.

"Bobby!" Lewis chirped.

Bobby turned back to his friend. "Hi."

"Mom! Bobby's here!"

Lorena Renelle, Lewis' mother, came to the door. She really liked Bobby. They hadn't seen him in awhile and had wondered about him, how his hand was doing. But the Gorens were a strange family, and she was not comfortable around them at all. With the exception of Bobby, of course.

"Hello, Bobby," she said as she came to the door. Then she noticed he was without a coat. "Bobby, where is your coat?"

Bobby never paid attention to the fact that he didn't have his coat. He was a kid, and never noticed the cold—much.

"Dunno," he said.

"Well, did you lose it, or…" she left off, as she realized he was still standing there in the cold. "Come in, honey, you must be cold."

Bobby walked in very slowly; he appeared very somber and was way too quiet, even for him.

"Bobby, what's wrong, honey?"

"Yeah, what's wrong, Bobby?" Lewis asked, looking right into Bobby's face, then patting his buddy's shoulder in an attempt to cheer him up.

"Nuthin," Bobby said, but he looked like he was going to cry. At the tender age of four years old Bobby had already closed himself off to others.

Lewis' mom knew better than to force him, so she tried another tactic. "Bobby, come on out to the kitchen, I just made some hot chocolate. It will warm you up."

And strangely enough, now that Bobby was inside the cold finally hit him. He shivered, then nodded his head, and followed Lewis into the kitchen, with Lewis jabbering all the way about his newest model cars.

Both boys climbed up into the chairs as Lorena set a mug of hot chocolate in front of each. Bobby put his hands around the mug, the heat from the drink warming his cold hands. Then she took some cookies off the cookie sheet and put two in front of each of them.

"Those are chocolate chip, Bobby. I just made them."

"I helped," Lewis said, and the chocolate smears on his face and shirt testified to that. "I'm a good helper, huh, Mom?"

"Yes, you are Lewis." She hugged her little son.

Bobby looked at them. "Mommy never lets me help. I alsays make a mess."

Mrs. Renelle looked at him, and could imagine the mess this little guy could make. But still…"I'm sure she'll let you sometime, too, sweetheart."

Tears welled up in the little guy's eyes. He shook his head adamantly. "Nope! She won't!"

Lewis and his mom looked at each other for a brief second, then stared at Bobby. Lewis climbed down and started to go to Bobby, but Lorena reached him first.

"Bobby, honey, what is _wrong?!"_

Now Bobby was sobbing so hard he could hardly get his breath, and Mrs. Renelle scooped him up.

"Bobby, what is it? Come on, Baby, tell me…"

"Ma…" his voice cracked as he tried to catch his breath, "Ma…Mommy…" She waited for him to breathe a little more normally. "Mommy was in a assident…and she…" he started sobbing again, too hard for him to continue.

_Oh my God!_ Lewis' mother carried Bobby to the living room, and sat down on the couch, still holding him. He didn't resist, and she stroked his curls back. "It's okay, Bobby," she murmured, over and over, although she couldn't see how it would ever be alright.

"Ma?" Lewis said, "what's wrong with Bobby's mommy?"

"Shh, Lewis, Bobby's mommy…" she couldn't say it, not with Bobby right next to her.

"Mommy's sleeping…with angels…" he whimpered.

"I know, honey." She continued to stroke his hair, and after a while, his head on her shoulder, he finally cried himself to sleep. The little boy was totally exhausted.

After a while, Lorena laid him on the couch. She got up and paced, not exactly knowing what to do. She had so many questions, not the least of which was why Bobby was even here. This was family time. He should be with his own family.

She finally decided to call his house, and was surprised to hear a strange voice, a young voice, answer the phone.

"_Hello?"_

"_Oh, um, this is Lorena Renelle. May I speak to Frank Goren, please?"_

"_Frank's working. Out of town. Can I take a message?"_

Stunned silence. _"Well, I, um, was calling in regards to Mrs. Goren…"_

"_What about her? Who is this again?"_ Sarah sounded suspicious.

"_Well, I have Bobby here—"_

"_Oh, thank you. He ran out of here hours ago, and I haven't seen him since."_

"_And you didn't look for him?"_

"_What? Well, I called him—"_

Lorena was getting angry_. "How could you just let him run off at a time like this? And why isn't Frank there? He's got two little boys who need him now!"_

Sarah sighed. _"That's why I'm here. I'm the babysitter."_

"_Well, what about the arrangements? Have they been made yet_?"

"_Arrangements? Arrangements for what?"_

"_The funeral…"_

Sarah was getting peeved_. "Funeral? What funeral? Look lady, I don't know who you are or what you're talking about. There's no funeral. Why would you—"_

"_What about Frances?"_

"_Frances will be back soon (_unfortunately, she thought.)_ She had a car wreck, but she's recovering pretty well, and will be back soon. Any other questions?"_

Lorena was confused, and didn't know what to say. Finally, _"Yes. Why would Bobby think his mother is dead?"_

"_What?" _Sarah burst out laughing, which really angered Lorena._ "I don't know…" _she thought about her last words to Bobby. "_He must've misunderstood—" _She didn't finish, knowing how her words would sound. She hadn't meant for Bobby to think that._ "You can bring Bobby home whenever you want. I'll be here," Sarah told her. _

Lorena hung up the phone, and looked over at Bobby. How absolutely horrible for Bobby, to think that his mother was dead. And how horrible for that woman to allow that! She decided to let Bobby sleep for a while, and then she would tell him the truth.

xxx

After a while, Lorena woke Bobby up, anxious to tell him the truth about his mother. She was totally unprepared for his reaction. He jerked away from her, once again adamantly shaking his head.

"Nope! Mommy went away, she's with angels…"

Lorena grabbed him by his shoulders, and shook him slightly. "Bobby listen to me! Your mother is okay! She'll be home soon—"

"No! No, she won't!" He pulled away again.

Renelle didn't know what to make of this. Why was Bobby acting like this? And try as she might, she could not convince him his mother hadn't died.

Later she bundled up Bobby in one of Lewis' jackets, and explained to him that she was taking him home. Bobby refused, but really had no say in the matter.

As she put Bobby and Lewis into the car she said, "Honey, I'm going to take you home, but you'll be fine. Later I'll talk to your father." Bobby just sat there glumly while Lewis, eternally happy, tried to cheer him up.

Arriving at his home, Lorena spoke to Sarah, explaining what had happened. Sarah felt horrible; she'd never meant for Bobby to think that his mother had died. Together they tried to explain things to him, but Bobby wouldn't believe them. He hadn't seen his mother in nearly a month, and the way everyone was talking he knew she wasn't coming back. It just took Sarah to make it all blow up. He _knew._

Later that evening when Frank called, Sarah told him what had happened. At first he was upset with them all for ruining his evening with his latest girlfriend (who Sarah didn't know existed).

"Frank, it's really important. Bobby really thinks she's dead! I tried to call his grandmother, but he won't even come near the phone."

"Let me talk to him," he suggested. But even Frank couldn't convince Bobby his mother was still alive. He'd never heard Bobby sound like this. And even though he was convinced Bobby wasn't his, to hear any child this distraught really bothered him. Why no one, including himself, had never thought to put Frances on the phone with her little boy was beyond him. He called Rose, Frances' mother, and left to come home immediately. He was going to take Bobby, and _only _Bobby, to see his mother.

tbc


	16. Chapter 16

The Way It Was Chapter 16

A/N Thank you for all the reviews! Really appreciate them.

Frankie was upset. Why was Bobby getting to see their mom, and he wasn't? It wasn't fair. And he told his dad that.

"Daddy, why can't I go? Bobby's too little, you said so!" He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. He really did miss his mom. And one thing about visiting their mom was the cookies that Gramma always made, and Grandpa always told him funny stories.

Frank almost relented, almost told Frankie he could go. But at the last minute he decided that Bobby really needed some alone time with his mother. It had been totally wrong that they had refused Bobby contact with his mother. He was only four, and four-year-olds needed their mothers.

"Not this time, Frankie," Frank told his older son.

"It's not fair, Daddy!"

"Frankie! I said no. Another word and you'll be spending time in your room." Frank had that look in his eye, the one that dared anyone to mess with him.

Frankie opened his mouth to protest again, and then changed his mind. He knew that look well, how his father could be if pushed too far, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. So he kept his mouth shut. It didn't stop him from glaring at his father, though.

"Let's go." As Frank headed to the kitchen to grab a few beers for the road, Bobby ran on ahead, and was already situated in the front driver's seat before his father ever got to the car. He was pretending to drive, scrunching way down in the seat, stretching his legs as far as he could in an attempt to reach the pedals. Once he touched the pedals, he was back up in the seat, turning the steering wheel. But once Frank reached the door, Bobby quickly scooted over.

"I was drivin'," Bobby told his dad. Frank adjusted his steering wheel back to the regular position. He didn't say anything.

Bobby was both excited and a little wary. Excited to be going somewhere with his father, something that didn't happen often, and very excited to be seeing his mother. He was wary, too, because he still wasn't sure his mother wasn't dead, and wasn't sure of what was going to happen. These thoughts didn't come to him as such, more like a little worry somewhere in his mind.

As they started on the way to Gramma's, Frank found himself in the strange position of being alone with Bobby. He had distanced himself from Bobby for a long time, and was now feeling a little uncomfortable.

For his part, Bobby kept glancing at Frank, fidgeting, as if waiting for something. After a while, he finally broke the silence.

"Daddy? Can a people's have two mommies?"

"What?" The question startled Frank, who was already on his second beer.

"Can a people's have two mommies?" Bobby repeated.

"Uh, yes, I guess so. Depending."

"Oh."

"But…only one mom can give birth to you."

"Like when you come out of your mommy's belly?"

"Yeah, like that." Frank took another swig of his beer.

Bobby thought about it for a moment. "Then how do people's get two mommies?"

"I don't know, Bobby." Sometimes Bobby's questions got on his nerves.

Bobby sat back in his seat, totally dissatisfied with the answer.

Then Frank finally said, "I guess you can have two mommies if the dad gets married again. Or the mom dies."

Excited again for answers, Bobby kneeled on the seat, facing his father. "Are you married again?"

"What? Bobby—no, I'm not." Not only did Bobby's questions sometimes get on his nerves, but they baffled him. Where the hell did he come up with this stuff?

"Is Sarah gonna be my mommy?"

Frank choked, the beer shooting out of his mouth. He couldn't quit choking, and just barely managed to pull the car off the road without wrecking. He finally managed to speak—barely. "What?! What (cough)…did you say?"

"Is Sarah—"

"I heard you!"

Bobby sat back as far as he could in his seat, expecting a whack to his head and wondering what he did wrong.

Frank finally managed to clear his lungs of the beer, then turned to face Bobby, who managed to move even closer to the door. Frank knew he had to remain calm, or Bobby would shut down. "Bobby…I'm not mad."

Bobby nodded slightly, still not sure.

"Bobby, why would you think Sarah would be your mother?" Frank spoke low, trying to be as non-threatening as he could.

"Cause Sarah…Sarah…" Bobby took a quick breath and said it. "Cause Sarah said if Mommy might never comes back then she would be my mommy."

"Yeah? And what did you say?"

"I said she's not my Mommy!"

Frank stared at him for a moment, then said, "You're right, Bobby. She's not your Mommy."

"And I'm gonna see my Mommy? And she's not with the angels?"

"Right again. You _are_ going to see your Mom, and she is _not _with the angels."

A huge grin spread over Bobby's face.

_With the angels? Frances? Ha! That's the last place she'd be_, Frank thought as he pulled the car out on the road again. "Let's not talk about Sarah to your Mom, okay? Cause Mom's still sick and doesn't want to talk about her."

"Okay, Daddy." Bobby settled back in the seat.

They settled into another silence, this time a lot more comfortable. After a while Bobby started talking again, and the rest of the trip to Gramma's was very pleasant, with Bobby jabbering away, so happy just to be with his father. And the father actually listening to the child he'd made a point of ignoring, surprised to see just how bright this little boy really was.

Xxx

It seems it took a very traumatized Bobby to make everyone realize just how much this child needed his mother. Rose, especially, regretted her decision to have just Frankie brought to see their mother. She'd never meant it to turn out the way it did. She had tried to make it easier on both her daughter and her youngest grandchild, to protect them both; so Frances would not be upset by a very active little boy, and Bobby would not be shocked and disturbed by the sight of his very injured mother. But Frances didn't seem any better for it, and Bobby had actually been in distress. No, not a very good idea at all.

Rose tried to prepare Frances for another visit from her family. By now, there wasn't really a lot of preparation. Although Frances would never really fully get over all that had happened, she was getting somewhat better every day.

"So they're all coming? Both my boys, and Frank?" her voice expressed no emotion at all.

This was the part Rose was not looking forward to. "Frances, honey, not both boys—"

"Just Frankie, then?"

"No, Frances, it's Bobby this time."

"Oh."

Rose had expected some reaction, and a bad one at that. But nothing."Just Bobby," she repeated. Not knowing how Frances would react, if at all, when her family arrived, and she didn't want it to go badly. Rose smiled at her. "Remember, honey, you weren't the only one suffering through this ordeal. Your whole family also suffered, and especially Bobby."

"Bobby? He doesn't understand what happened!"

"I know--"

"Nobody does! Nobody understands what I went through!"

"Of course not, Frances. But Bobby…he thought…he thought…you were gone."

"What? Why? Oh my God!" Frances finally showed some responsiveness. "Who…why would anyone tell him that?"

Rose lowered her eyes, ashamed now. "That's the problem, honey, no one told him anything. He just heard about an accident, and then you were gone. And even though big Frank and little Frank came to see you, he didn't. He wasn't allowed, thanks to Frank and me."

Frances took this in, then said, "Well of course I want to see my Bobby, too." Despite what she said, she sounded apathetic.

Rose would never understand her. "Frances. Frank is already on his way, and he's bringing Bobby. _Try_ to show your son some affection," she said harshly.

Rose wished she could keep those boys herself for awhile, they were her grandsons and she enjoyed them so much. It would also give Frances a break. But she was getting too old, and neither she nor her husband was in the best of health. She would never understand Frances' obvious preference for her older son. Not that there was anything wrong with Frankie, in fact, just the opposite. Frankie was a beautiful child, both in looks and intelligence, no doubt about that. But so was Bobby. Bobby had that sweet little face with the dark, so-serious eyes, those long lashes a girl would kill for, and those adorable curls. And smart. God, that boy was smart. She almost laughed thinking about Frances trying to control those two precocious little boys.

Unfortunately, as cute as Bobby was, he would always be second in his parents' eyes.

Frances went back to her room to wait for Frank and Bobby. She sat in a chair in front of her old dresser, distractedly brushing her hair and stared at herself in the mirror. After nearly a month, there were still remnants of the terrible bruising around her neck from Mark Ford Brady. Every time she looked in the mirror she cried. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw the bruises and thought of Mark. She'd never really fallen for him, well, not hard, but she had really liked and trusted him. And he'd done this to her—why? Why? She could still feel his hands around her neck, tightening, tightening…she'd nearly lost consciousness, then abruptly he stopped. More whys. Why had he suddenly stopped? After the terrible beating he'd given her, and obviously wanted to kill her, why had he suddenly stopped? And then she understood. Mark Ford Brady spared her life because she was the mother of his child. _Oh God! No!_ _Bobby was NOT Mark's son! He couldn't be!!_

Bobby. Poor Bobby. The innocent in all this. Would she think of Bobby every time she thought of the rape and assault Brady subjected her to? Worse yet, would she now think of Mark every time she looked at Bobby? No! She resolved right there, she could not, would not, think this way. For now on, she would only think of Bobby as Frank's son. And hers. Bobby was her and _Frank's_ son.

Xxx

Big Frank dreaded the visit to Rose and Joseph's home, where their daughter was recuperating. He always did. Since day one, neither of them had particularly cared for him, and the past few years did nothing to change that. Being at their home was just downright uncomfortable. He felt like maybe he needed a little something stronger to bolster his nerves, and Bobby's incessant questions were starting to get on those nerves.

He stopped at a familiar tavern he saw along the way. "C'mon, Bobby," he said, getting out of the car.

Bobby followed obediently behind his father. When Frank sat on a barstool near the back, Bobby climbed on the one next to him.

"Hey, Frank," the bartender said to him. "The usual?"

"Hey, Jim. Yeah, the usual."

Jim put a shot of bourbon along with a beer chaser in front of him. Then he noticed Bobby.

"Hey, who's this kid? Never seen this one before."

"This is my s--Bobby, his name's Bobby."

Jim looked at Bobby. "Well, hello, Bobby." Bobby looked down shyly. "Never even knew you had another kid. You been hiding him or something? You always have that other one—Frankie, isn't it?" Frank didn't bother to answer, as he downed his bourbon, following it with a big swig of his beer. His only reply was to tell Jim to get him another drink, which Jim willingly supplied.

"So whadda ya want, kid?" he asked Bobby. "You want a soda?"

Bobby nodded emphatically. Looking at his father's beer he said, "Root beer!"

"Root beer it is," Jim told him as he put the glass in front of the little boy.

Bobby watched his dad. He was very proud of him, his eyes only showing the unconditional love he had for the man he thought was his father. He tried to follow his father's actions. When Frank took a drink of his beer, Bobby took a drink of his soda. When Frank put his beer down, Bobby put his soda down, when Frank shook his head and sighed, Bobby shook his head and sighed. This scene repeated itself over and over. Bobby loved his dad, and wanted to be just like him. He continued to mimic Frank's actions. Everything Frank did, Bobby did, exactly like him.

Amused by this, the bartender laughed. "Looks like you've got an admirer there, Frank." Jim's kids were pretty much estranged from him, thanks to his ex-wife, and he envied Frank. "You're a lucky guy," he continued, still watching Bobby.

"Yeah?" Frank replied. He was indifferent. "One more, for the road." This one he downed quickly, then got up and left, without a word to Bobby. Bobby had to run to catch up with him.

"Are we gonna see Mommy now?" Bobby asked, as once more he kneeled in the front seat facing his father.

The whiskey hadn't improved Frank's mood. He was starting to regret this whole thing now, and settled into a foul mood. He drove the rest of the way in silence.

Xxx

Soon they arrived at Rose's house. Bobby was out of the car practically before Frank had parked it. He ran into the house, jumping into his grandpa's arms just as Frankie had done.

"Hi ya, Bobby!" Joseph said. "How's my big boy?"

"Good, Grandpa!" he said, relishing the close contact with his grandfather, who hugged him tightly. Bobby had missed the feeling of closeness with anyone, and he put his arms around his grandpa's neck and held on.

Then Rose came in, and held her arms out to Bobby, who released his grandpa slowly, kissed him, and went easily into his grandmother's arms, as Joseph tousled his hair. Bobby put his arms around his grandma's neck as he had his grandpa, and squeezed. Rose's eyes teared up as she realized how desperately this child craved some kind of love and attention. She squeezed him back, so tightly he could hardly breathe.

"Gramma…" Bobby gasped for a breath.

Rose loosened her hold on him. "I love you, honey. And I've missed you."

Bobby looked at her with his big solemn brown eyes. "I love you, too, Gramma," he said, hugging her again.

Then she put him down. "Honey, are you ready to see your Mommy now?"

Bobby nodded eagerly, and Rose prayed to God Frances wouldn't reject him.

As Joseph took Frank into the other room, Rose took Bobby's hand as he practically ran to his mom's old room. It took everything she had to restrain him.

When they got to the room, Rose knocked on the door, waiting. "Bobby's here."

They stepped into the room. Frances, sitting at her dressing table, turned to look. To her horror, she didn't see her little boy standing there, she saw a miniature Mark Ford Brady. Maybe it was her imagination, or because of what she'd recently been thinking. But for just that second, whether it was the way he moved, turned his head, or an expression on his face, but in that instance he looked just like Mark. _Please, God, no…_She immediately felt her resolve crumbling, and started crying. Bobby looked at his Gramma, then back to his mom. He ran to her, climbing into her lap.

"Ma? Mommy? Why you cryin'?" She refused to look at him, not wanting to see Mark in him and think those horrible thoughts.

"Mommy?" Bobby hated to see his mother cry; it upset him tremendously, and his own eyes teared up.

Frances felt terrible. She couldn't force herself to look at her son. She just continued to cry.

Then Rose came over, and reached down to pick Bobby up and take him out of the room before any damage could be done.

"No," Frances said, holding on to Bobby. She cradled her little boy to her. "I'm so sorry, Bobby…" she whispered. She hugged him even closer to her, kissing him, stroking his hair. "Please know how much I love you..."

tbc


	17. Chapter 17

The Way It Was Chapter 17

Bobby sat on his mother's lap, bewildered as she stroked his hair and told him that she loved him, the tears falling down her cheeks, soaking his dark curls. Bobby pulled back, not liking the feel of her tears in his hair. It was disturbing to him; he was always disturbed when he saw his mother cry.

"Why you crying, Mommy? Ma?"

"Because," she said, her voice hitching, "I…I love you so much…"

This confused him all the more. "Well, why does it make you sad?"

"Because--it doesn't, honey. I'm not really crying, I'm…I'm just so happy to see you."

"Oh." Somehow the answer didn't satisfy him. "But water's still comin outta your eyes, Mommy."

Rose walked over to the two; even she was a little confused. She had no way of knowing Frances' real emotional state, having never been told of Bobby's true, or supposed, paternity. That was something Frank and Frances had kept completely under wraps, just one more family secret, one more lie. But a big one. "C'mon, honey, Mommy's okay, she's just very emotional. We'll let Mommy go now, and we'll go see Grampa. Okay?" She didn't give him a chance to refuse, taking his hand and leading him away.

"But…Mommy's eyes are waterin," he murmured. He wanted to see his Grampa badly, but he didn't want to leave his mother, either, feeling very unsure of himself.

"Shhh, Bobby, Mommy's okay."

She took Bobby to the living room, only to find Frank and Joseph in a very heated debate. Once in the house all the alcohol Frank had consumed on the way became obvious.

"Damn it, Frank!" Joseph was angry, waving his arms around. "For God's sake, you had Bobby in the car with you!"

"So what? We got here, didn't we?"

"No thanks to you!"

Rose interrupted. "What's going on?" she asked, looking from one to the other. _Now what?_

"Nothing," Frank started, but Joseph wasn't letting up.

"Can't you smell him, Rose? He's half drunk, and he drove that way with Bobby in the car!"

Rose turned to her son-in-law. "Frank?"

"Oh for God's sake!" Frank took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. _And you_ _wonder why I never come here…_"What the hell do you think I do when you're not around?"

"That's great, Frank!" Joseph exploded. "So you do this all the time?"

"Yeah," Frank said proudly, "and I've never wrecked yet."

As Frank and Joseph continued to argue, Bobby was getting upset. His parents constantly fought, day and night, to the point where it kept Bobby and Frankie awake all night, hands pressed tightly over their ears to drown out the sound. He pulled on his grandma's dress.

"Gramma, is Grampa gonna hit my Daddy?"

Rose looked startled. "No, of course not, honey—"

"Why does everybody has to fight alla time?" The pain in the little boy's eyes and voice was obvious.

Rose tried to make it easier on him. By telling her little white lie. Lies like Bobby was told his entire life. "Bobby, they're not really fighting. They just have different ideas about things."

"Huh?"

"Honey, what I mean is…they don't understand each other…"

Bobby thought for a second. "You mean like I don't unnerstand Mr. Liu?"

"Yes, like that."

He listened carefully to his father and grandfather. They didn't sound like Mr. Liu at all.

Rose could practically see the wheels turning in his young mind, and before Bobby could think of anything else, she took his hand firmly and took him to the kitchen. She sat him on a chair and proceeded to pour him a glass of milk and put four Oreo cookies on a napkin in front of him. His eyes lit up and as he took one of the cookies; he very politely thanked her. "Thank you, Gramma," he said, pulling his Oreo apart and licking at the white filling.

"You're welcome, honey," she said distractedly, as she reached for the coffee and the percolator. She hoped a little coffee would sober Frank up, but she honestly just thought it'd make for a wide-awake drunk. _Which is better than a sleepy one_, she figured. At least he wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel.

"I'm done, Gramma," Bobby announced.

"Already? You must have been hun—" She looked at Bobby, and all the cookie halves, minus the filling, on the table.

"Can I have some more?" he asked.

"Bobby, what about those cookies right there on the table?"

"Don't like 'em."

Rose sighed. She wanted to indulge him, knowing that didn't happen very often, but she also couldn't see wasting food. She figured if he had been given the cookies without filling in the first place he'd have eaten them happily. "When you finish those on the table, you may have some more."

"Please, Gramma?" he said very softly, looking at her with those big brown eyes, so sad...so intense…and she gave in.

"Okay, but this is all!" She gave him two more cookies. "This time, eat the whole thing."

Bobby smiled and nodded, and Rose prepared three cups of coffee for the men and her, and took them to the living room. Bobby still only ate the filling, then he went in search of his mother.

He went to her door and tried to open it. It was locked. "Mommy?" No answer. He banged on the door. "Mommy!"

Then the door opened, and his mother stood there. Bobby threw his arms around her legs, hugging her, and she listlessly hugged her little son in return. It wasn't much of a hug, but a hug, none the less.

"C'mon, Mommy! Daddy and Grampa are fighten'; they don't unnerstand each other.' He took his mother's hand and pulled her into the living room.

Out in the living room, the men were still arguing, but the heat had somehow dissipated. Now they just argued about every little thing, as was their usual custom. To the surprise of everyone, Frances joined them, Bobby at her side. She sat down and Bobby climbed into her lap. Both sat there quietly as the others talked.

Finally Joseph couldn't take it anymore, and said, "Hey Lefty, you get over here and see your Grampa!"

Bobby took off running, practically leaping at him. Joseph caught him easily. He sat on his Grampa's lap, but kept a wary eye on his mother, afraid she might leave.

Grampa loved baseball, and his favorite player of all time was lefthanded pitcher Whitey Ford, of the Yankees. He had visions of his little lefthanded grandson Bobby playing baseball (specifically pitching) and often gave him instructions. He also took to calling him "Lefty" as many lefthanded pitchers were called.

"So Lefty, what have you been up to?" Joseph asked. "And how's that pitching arm?"

"Good," Bobby said. He made a pitching motion with his left arm, knowing Grampa would like it.

Joseph laughed and tousled his hair. Then something got his attention and he caught Bobby's hand in his, and examined it. "Something wrong with your hand?"

The hand Bobby had burnt was nearly all healed, and didn't hurt any more. But the inside of his hand was very pink. It would soon be the same tone as his other hand, but right now the skin was brand new.

"I burneded it, but it's okay now. It don't hurt no more. I made ba-sketti!"

"You cooked?!"

"Me and Frankie was hungry…" Bobby explained

"Must've been a helluva burn…" Joseph murmured, raising his eyes to Frank.

Frank wasn't about to let him lay this on him. "Hey, that happened when _your daughter_ decided to leave them alone for a whole weekend while _she _snuck off with her lov— I mean, _friend_!" he said sarcastically.

Frances didn't respond, if she even heard him.

"And just where were _you_?" Rose demanded.

"I was there," Frank lied. "They just did it when—"

"No you wasn't, Daddy!" Bobby piped up. "You was playing with the horses, 'member?"

Frank glared at Bobby, and Bobby sat back further in Grampa's lap. If looks could kill…

"So who fixed it up?" Joseph asked.

"I did," Frank lied again.

"No, Daddy," Bobby looked frustrated. "The wolfman did!"

Frank saw his opening and took it. "Ha!" he yelled triumphantly. "Now who's the liar? That little fucker lies constantly! Wolfman? Ha!" Right now he didn't care who he offended.

"There was too a wolfman…" Bobby said.

"See?" Frank sneered.

Rose spoke up. "Frank, just because Bobby tells stories doesn't make him a liar."

"Says you."

Of course now no one believed Bobby. He looked earnestly at his grandfather. "Grampa, there was too a wolfman! He was really big, and had great big teeth—"

"Okay, Lefty," Joseph said, humoring his little grandson. "Let's hear about your wolfman."

"Sure," Frank said, "Encourage him! You aren't going to be the ones who have to listen to this bullshit day in and day out!"

"Let it go, Frank," Joseph told him evenly. Then to Bobby, "Now tell me and Gramma about him, Bobby."

"Okay," Bobby said. "One night it was really stormin out and it kept thunderin, and me and Frankie was really scared and the lights went out and—"

"Whoa! Slow down," Joseph said, "take a breath. Come on…"

Bobby stopped, and did as his grandfather asked, taking an exaggerated breath, then continued. "Me and Frankie was so scared, and it was really dark and we went to get in Frankie's bed under the covers and the wolfman came and tried to get us. He was really really hungry, and had big giant teeth, and big big paws, and he was going to eat us!" Bobby said breathlessly, "like this!" Bobby put his hands up, curving his fingers under to resemble the claws of a wolf. He looked at his grandparents and went "grrrrrrrrrrr."

Joseph and Rose both feigned fear, then Rose said, "What happened next, Bobby?"

"Then he didn't eat us." Bobby got still for a moment, very thoughtful. "He made us some food, and then he fixed my hand. My hand was all burneded, Grampa." His dark eyes were very serious. Now he looked at his grandmother. "And it hurt really bad…"

Rose got up to look at his hand, and could see how serious it had been. "Are you alright now, sweetie?"

"Yes. Can I have another cookie?"

"Alright, just one more, and that's it, next thing you know you'll be sick."

Before they left for the kitchen again, Bobby said, "And I gived the wolfman lotsa money, so he won't be hungry no more!"

Suddenly Frank's head shot up. He'd been daydreaming of Sarah all this time, but at the word "money" he perked up. "Wait a minute!" he bellowed. He got up and caught up with Bobby and Rose, grabbing Bobby by his arm.

"What money did you give to your 'wolfman'?"

"I…I don't know…" Bobby tried to back away.

"Where'd you get it?" Frank demanded.

Rose got between them. "Leave him alone, Frank! You said yourself that it's all made up. So just leave Bobby alone and go back and finish fighting with Joseph!"

Frank knew he'd get nowhere with this tonight, so he dropped it and did as Rose suggested.

After giving Bobby another cookie, Rose came back and joined the others. They all actually talked amicably for a while, all except Frances, who up to this point had not uttered a word. Until now. When she did speak, she certainly got everyone's attention.

"I want to go home," she announced, out of the blue. They all looked at her. Rose and Joseph weren't quite sure she was ready, and Frank definitely thought not.

"Are you sure, Honey?" Rose asked.

"Yes, I miss my boys. I've been here a month, long enough. I want to go home."

_"Tonight?!"_ Frank asked, as panic came over him. All he could think about was Sarah, sleeping in their bed, her things scattered about the house. It would take quite awhile to rid the house of all her stuff. "Tonight?" he asked again.

"Yes, tonight," Frances replied. "I'll go and get ready." With that, Frances got up and started to her room.

tbc


	18. Chapter 18

The Way It Was Chapter 18

A/N Since this is getting so long (and Bobby is still only four years old) I have decided to make a change. After this chapter I will deal with the period when Frances is officially diagnosed with schizophrenia, and Bobby will grow a few years, to age six and a half. I figure if she was diagnosed when he was seven, and that was when he starting noticing his mommy was different, then she may have been that way for a few months before. Just another way of looking at it.

I am sorry for all the delays, there's been a lot going on. Thanks for your patience!

This chapter deals with Bobby while he is still four.

0o0

"I want to go home," Frances announced, out of the blue. They all looked at her. Rose and Joseph weren't quite sure she was ready, and Frank definitely thought she wasn't.

"Are you sure, Honey?" Rose asked.

"Yes, I miss my boys. I've been here a month, long enough. I want to go home."

"Tonight?" Frank asked, as panic came over him. All he could think about was Sarah, sleeping in their bed, her things scattered about the house. It would take quite awhile to rid the house of all her stuff.

"Yes, tonight," Frances replied. "I'll go and get ready." With that, Frances got up and started to her room.

Frank couldn't believe it—she wanted to come home--tonight. _Son of a bitch!_ He tried to think of a way to make her change her mind without being too obvious, but in his panicked state nothing was coming to him. Soon Frances was ready, coming out of her room, bag in hand.

"All ready, honey?" her father asked, giving her a kiss. Frances was actually a little nervous, not anywhere near as sure of herself as she used to be. Her experience with Brady had been devastating; and she would be a long time recovering.

"You're _sure_?" Frank asked. "You're ruining the surprise, you know."

"What surprise?" Frances said, showing just the slightest bit of interest for the first time.

Now Frank had to think fast. "Uh…Frankie's surprise. He was um…he wanted me to get some flowers for you when you came home. But with no warning, I didn't know in time to arrange it."

"My Frankie," Frances whispered. "My little Frankie…"

Joseph wasn't buying this for a minute. He figured Frank just didn't want Frances back.

"Well, off you go, then," he said, encouraging Frances. Frank grabbed the suitcase, and Joseph picked up Bobby to carry him to the car, tickling him and playing with him. Bobby clung to his neck, never wanting to let go.

Just as they got to the car, Frank suddenly said, "Wait! I have to make a phone call." He ran into the house as Joseph and Rose settled the other two into the car. He quickly dialed his home number and waited impatiently for someone to pick up. After what seemed forever, Sarah finally picked up.

"Hello?"

"Get your stuff out of the house! Now!"

"What?"

"Get your shit out of the house. Frances is coming home. _Tonight_," he told her through gritted teeth. "Put it on the side of the house, throw it out, I don't care! Just get rid of it."

Frank closed his eyes momentarily as he heard Joseph behind him.

"Problems, Frank?" he said sarcastically.

"No, I, uh… just want the babysitter to straighten up a little. She's supposed to be cleaning, but…uh, cleaning is obviously not her forte. The house is a mess. I just told her to clean up."

"Well I guess you won't be needing a sitter after tonight, huh?"

Frank knew Joseph was on to him, but he didn't let on. "Yeah, I guess. It'll be kind of nice to have things back to normal." A blatant lie, Joseph knew, and just narrowed his eyes at Frank, who ignored him. "Well, guess we'll get going."

0o0

The Gorens were on the road less than ten minutes before Frank had to stop at a tavern again. Something to calm his nerves, a little more for the road. He went into the tavern, telling his wife and child he'd only be a minute. Half an hour later he came out, two six packs in hand, and whiskey on his breath. Even Bobby could smell it, but was smart enough not to mention it. And Frances either chose to ignore it, or was still messed up enough not to notice.

After those drinks in the tavern, Frank was none to steady at the wheel. He was having a little more trouble than he figured just trying to keep the car on the road. And then the trouble started. Bobby was standing on the hump in the back of the car, between his parents, when he asked his loaded question.

"Ma? Are you still going to be my mommy?"

Startled, she turned to him. "Well of course I am, Bobby! Why would—"

Her question was cut off as Frank turned and tried to smack Bobby, but missed, and in his inebriated state thought a car was coming right at them. He suddenly jerked the car to the side, flinging Bobby around in the back seat and slamming Frances back into her seat.

"Fuck!" Frank yelled. He turned to look at his family. Frances was trying to catch her breath, and Bobby, who'd been thrown up against the door in the back, now kneeled on the seat, a hand over his mouth.

"You okay, Frannie?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer said, "Bobby! You okay?"

Frances only managed to croak out the word "Frank."

"Bobby, I asked you if you were okay?" Frank demanded.

"Yeah," Bobby replied softly, and sniffled. He actually had hurt his mouth when he hit the door, and split his lip and loosened his front two teeth. Blood was coming from both his lip and around his teeth. He was afraid to let his father know he was hurt. His father was extremely intolerant of children crying, especially boys. Even if they were only four years old and hurting. So Bobby learned to hide his feelings and his injuries, knowing there was no one he could trust.

The driver of the other car jumped out, mumbling "You stupid son of a bitch!" He ran to the car, which was partially into the side of the ditch. He banged on the window. "Hey, you all right in there?"

Frank opened the door right on the guy. "We're fine," he said, narrowing his eyes, and right away tried to turn it on the other guy. "We'd be even better if you hadn't practically run into us."

"Wha--? You're nuts, man. You ran right off the road—I'm just trying to make sure you're all okay. Seeing as you are, I'll be on my way." The man was angry, all he'd done was try to do the right thing, and that damn drunk…he was in his car and gone.

After his scare, Frank sobered up and bit and managed to get them all home without further incident. But home is where the trouble would really begin.

0o0

Frank had barely stopped the car before Bobby was out the door and in the house, heading straight for his room.

"Bobby?" Sarah asked as Bobby went running past her and Frankie. Bobby didn't want anyone seeing his mouth, and risk more trouble.

Soon Frank and Frances came through the door, Frank helping Frances a bit. He eyed Sarah, hoping she'd volunteer to just leave. Which she didn't. She actually wanted to linger a bit, and sort of imply to Frances that she wasn't the only one with a hold on Frank. She eyed Frank back, really eyed him, letting her eyes wander up and down his body.

Frances caught the look, and literally speared Frank with her own look. He wasted no time in getting Sarah out of there, knowing there would be hell to pay when he got back.

Outside, as Frank pushed her along, Sarah dug her heels in. "Frank…!"

Frank took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "It's over, Sarah. Okay?" It really wasn't a question. "My wife is back. It's over. I want you to stay away from me, my family, and my home. Especially my kids."

Tears sprung to her eyes. "You're a bastard, you know that! I'm a better mother than _she'll _ever be!" She pulled away from him. "I can walk myself home. I don't need you!"

That was fine with Frank, the sooner she was out of the picture the better. He knew he could pick up any girl at any time. Now all he had to do was make peace with Frances, and things would be back to normal. He walked the short distance back to the house and went in.

Meanwhile, Frankie had ran to his mother and hugged her fiercely, not letting her go. "I missed you, Mama, so much!"

She hugged him back, running her fingers through his loose curls, so much like Bobby's, one of the characteristics they shared. "I missed you too, baby," she told him, kissing his head over and over.

When Frank came back in, Frances looked up. "Frankie, honey, go in your room for a bit, okay? I need to talk to your father."

"K, Mom," he said, and went and joined Bobby in their room. Once there, he took one look at Bobby and said, "Wow, Bobby, did Dad smack ya?" he asked.

"No," Bobby said, finding it a little difficult to talk. "Was the car." About a minute later he said, "My toofs feel funny, and it hurts." He was pushing one of his teeth back and forth.

Frankie pushed Bobby's hand away and looked. "It's just a loose tooth, dummy. Everybody gets 'em. They grow back."

"Oh."

What Frankie didn't know was that most loose teeth don't usually occur until the age of five. And they aren't usually accompanied by a split lip and a bruised and swollen mouth.

"The good thing," Frankie continued, a gleam in his eye, "is that you get money for your tooth!"

Bobby brightened. "Really?"

"Yep. You put it under your pillow and a tooth fairy comes and takes it for all the poor kids who don't have teeth, and she gives you fifty cents for it."

Bobby liked that idea. He was willing to put up with a hurting mouth to get fifty cents. He thought about it. "How come poor kids don't have teeth?"

Frankie shrugged. "Don't know. It's just what I heard."

Bobby nodded his head in understanding. He learned a lot from Frankie.

"Know what else I know?"

This time Bobby shook his head. Frankie knew _so _much!

"That if a dad and a mom are in a bed, and they kiss, they'll get a baby."

"Then is Sarah and Daddy gonna have a baby?"

"No, stupid!"

Now Bobby didn't understand, but said no more. He didn't care anyway. Right now his teeth were his first priority. Frankie told Bobby to keep pushing on his teeth, back and forth, till they came out, and Bobby tried, but because they weren't really ready to come out, and were only partially loose, it really hurt.

"It hurts," Bobby told him.

"Don't be such a baby. I did it before, and it didn't hurt. Keep doing it!" Frankie had designs on half of that fifty cents.

So Bobby continued pushing, pulling and yanking on his teeth. _Does too, hurt!_ Bobby thought. Every now and then Frankie would push Bobby's hand away and yank on one himself, but had to quit because he couldn't get a grip; the blood made the teeth too slippery. Bobby was glad Frankie couldn't get a decent grip, Frankie was just too mean, and didn't at all mind hurting his little brother if it provided a means to the end, which in this case, was fifty cents.

Meanwhile out in the living room, Frank and Frances were still in their heated argument.

"I know you have a girl everywhere you go!" Frances stormed. "But bringing one into the house? In front of the boys?!"

"Like you never brought Mark Whats-His-Face in here?!"

The argument went on for quite a while, the gist of it being that Frank really was a cheating bastard, and Frances an unfaithful bitch.

After a while, Bobby and Frank returned to the living room, where Bobby started yanking on Frances' skirt. "Ma! Ma! Lookit!" he was saying excitedly. She continued to argue with Frank, completely ignoring Bobby. Bobby kept yanking on her skirt. When she finally looked down irritably at her little son, she gave a shriek.

"Oh my God!"

That caused even Frank to come over and look. "Holy shit!"

Both of them stared down at Bobby, who looked up at them with a blood smeared face and a toothless gap in a big grin. He was holding out his left hand, also blood smeared, with two tiny bloody-white objects in it. "My toofs!" he announced, proudly.

Both his parents dropped down to him, and Frank grabbed his shoulders. "What the hell happened to you?"

And Frankie, who didn't like the attention Bobby was getting one bit said, "It's just some loose teeth." He sulked off onto the couch and sat, arms crossed, staring at them all sullenly.

His parents took a quick glance at him, and for once ignored him, turning their attention back to Bobby, who reveled in that attention.

"What happened?" Frank demanded again.

"My toofs got hurted in the car," Bobby explained, causing Frances to glare once again at her husband. "And Frankie said the toof fairy would come and give me lots of money."

"No, I didn't!" Frankie lied, thinking he'd be in trouble. Frankie was already a habitual liar, something he would continue to do for his entire life whenever needed. And sometimes even if it was not needed. He continued to glare.

Now Frank was a little peeved, assuming some of the guilt, but mostly angry at Bobby for adding fuel to the fire. He told Frances, "Just go wash him up, it probably ain't nothing!" He gave Bobby a shove towards the bathroom, and Frances followed.

Once in the bathroom, Frances took a cold wet rag and applied it none too gently to Bobby's face. She was angry. "I'm not home half an hour and you boys are at it again!" She wiped his face roughly. He squirmed, trying to get away, which only made her angrier. "Hold still!"

When they finally emerged from the bathroom, neither one looked very happy.

"_Nothing_, huh?" she demanded of Frank. "Look at him!"

Frank closed his eyes wearily, and then opened them to find Bobby and Frances standing before him. He looked down at Bobby in dismay.

"So what do you want me to do? They're just uh…baby teeth, right?"

"Yes. I hope you realize he's going to have to go about a year with no teeth until the new ones grow in?"

"So?"

"Is the toof fairy gonna come?" Bobby asked in the midst of all this.

Frances sighed. "So what are we supposed to say when people ask why his teeth have been gone for so long?" She could already picture the embarrassment this would cause, and stalked to her room, slamming the door. And Frank thought to himself, _Yep, things are back to normal._ The trouble was, he wasn't so sure this was what he really wanted.

0o0

That night, Bobby slept very lightly, anxious about the tooth fairy. Early the next morning, Bobby awoke excitedly and tossed his pillow off to the side. To his amazement, there were four shiny quarters lying there. He jumped onto Frankie's bed, and woke him.

"Frankie! Frankie! Lookit what the toof fairy brung!" Frankie sat up, rubbing his eyes. Once he understood what Bobby was saying, he was wide awake.

"See? Didn't I tell you?"

Bobby nodded, and Frankie said, "I get half, for tellin' you about it." And he took two of Bobby's quarters. Then he put his arm around Bobby's shoulders and boasted, "See? I take care of you all the time."

Tbc


	19. Chapter 19

The Way It Was Chapter 19

A/N This is the chapter where Frances starts developing her schizophrenia, just little things that by themselves would not amount to much; early symptoms. It would not be until a few months later that she would be officially diagnosed. I did a little research into the early symptoms, and have included just a few.

- - - - - - - -

Not long after Frances had returned home after her agony at the hands of Mark Ford Brady and her month long stay at her parents' home, Frances took a job as a librarian. Her doctor had suggested she do something to help take her mind off all that had happened, and as she was an intelligent woman (not to mention self-absorbed), this seemed like the perfect job.

Much to her relief, no one ever questioned what had happened concerning Bobby's teeth, not that anyone had done anything wrong other than the accident itself. Technically it had been Bobby who had done it to himself, with Frankie's persuasive encouragement. But people only said how cute Bobby looked, which in a way only stroked Frances' rather large ego, something Frances really needed, because after the ordeal with Mark Ford Brady she would never be the same again.

0o0

The next few years continued as before. Frank carried on with his womanizing and his gambling. He continued to favor his biological child, Frankie. And as Declan Gage would later tell Bobby, his _mother's husband_ never showed him any love. The most he ever did was tolerate him.

It was spring of 1968. Bobby was now six and a half, and in first grade in Catholic school. Frankie was nearly ten, and in fourth grade in the same school. Both had their own agendas. This year Bobby would be old enough for Little League, and he wanted to play more than anything. Baseball was the love of his life. He was a big Mets fan, and watched and listened to as many games as he could. His idols at the time were Jerry Koosman, a left-handed pitcher and Jerry Grote, the catcher. Bobby liked Koosman because he was a lefty, like himself. Whenever he watched Koosman pitch, he thought of his Grampa, who called Bobby "Lefty" and taught him some special pitches. And he liked Grote because he was the catcher, and thought that catchers knew more about the game than anyone.

Bobby had his own little transistor radio that Grampa had given him, and unknown to his parents he always listened to the games in his bed at night. If the team happened to be playing on the west coast, he'd listen to well after midnight sometimes. And if the game went into extra innings… well he was an exceptionally tired boy the next day. But Bobby didn't really need another reason to be tired. If it wasn't baseball keeping him up, it was his parents' arguing all night. Or any one of their outlandish vices that managed to disrupt the entire household.

Frankie liked baseball, too. Or at least he used to. Now he was more into his friends and mischief, and he was good at it. He had discovered that he could go easily into a store and slip something into his pocket, and so far, had never been caught. Between him and his friends, he was definitely the best. Frankie was used to being the best at whatever he did.

One morning, after one of those west coast games, Bobby had a hard time getting up in the morning. Frankie had gotten up a little before, and was already gone, neglecting to call Bobby. Frances came into the room, finding her younger son just starting to wake up. She called him loudly, startling him awake.

He scrambled out of his bed. "I'm sorry, Ma, I'm… I'm sorry! I'll hurry up!" He edged his way around her, trying to get by without her grabbing or smacking him. To his surprise, she backed away from _him_.

"Mommy?"

Frances just stared at him. For one quick moment she didn't know who he was, and continued to edge away from him till she backed herself into the wall. She suddenly grabbed the curtains and yanked them shut, then put her hands over her eyes. "It's too bright in here! What's wrong with you? Are you trying to blind me?!" She went and pulled the curtains even tighter, then just turned around and left the room.

Bobby peered after her, an odd look on his face, then just grabbed his clothes, and ran into the bathroom, grateful for the reprieve for whatever reason. He had already forgotten the incident, more worried now about what his teacher would say. He hurriedly dressed, already thinking of an excuse for his teacher.

0o0

Later that evening at dinner, Frank was in another foul mood. He'd recently won a good amount at the track, and just as quickly lost it and a lot more. He was extremely agitated when he sat down to dinner, and the fact that they were having soup with crusty Italian bread for dinner just set him off.

"God damn it!" he yelled. "What the hell is this?" He held up his bread for all of them to see. "This is garbage!" Throwing it in the trash he rounded on Frances, yelling and getting in her face. Bobby and Frankie stopped in mid-bite and watched tensely as Frank berated their mother.

"You are fucking worthless! Why the hell can't you cook a decent meal like Joe's wife? Or any other of the goddamn wives around here?! Ever hear of meat?! Potatoes?! I don't see anybody else eating this shit! This isn't dinner, it's fucking inedible trash!" To prove his point he grabbed all the bread and threw it in the trash can. He was reaching to throw the soup out too when Frankie very defiantly said, "I like it!"

"Me, too!" Bobby said, in the same tone as his brother.

Frank stared at them. Then he looked at Frankie, and said threateningly, "You keep your fucking mouth shut!"

He turned to Bobby. "And you…" he walked over behind him, and Bobby tensed even more. Frank got him up out of his chair, completely changing the subject, but needing to punish him for daring to comment on the situation. "You were late for school again today. Why?"

Bobby stared at his feet. "I… don't know."

Frank took Bobby by his chin, and forced his head back to look at him. "You look at me when I'm talking to you! I'll tell you why you were late. Cause you stayed up all night listening to the damn ball game, didn't you?"

"Frank!" Frances stood up angrily. "Leave him alone. You're only mad because of the dinner—"

"Shut up!" Frank shot back. "You're the reason he does this shit. You let him get away with everything! Well, things are gonna change around here." He turned his attention back to Bobby. "Go get that radio."

Bobby turned and ran to his room, and returned, holding the little red radio in his hand. He knew his dad was going to take it away for a while, and it disappointed him immensely. There was no telling when he'd get it back, or how many games he'd miss.

Frank watched him, and could read the disappointment in his face. "Give it to me."

Reluctantly Bobby handed his dad the radio, and then, without warning, Frank smashed it on the table, making them all jump, and spilling the soup from the bowls on the table. Finally feeling satisfied, he said, "Throw it in the trash, Bobby, where it belongs." He left the kitchen, then out the front door, presumably to get himself a decent meal somewhere.

Big tears fell down Bobby's cheeks as he picked up the pieces of the little radio. "Grampa gived me this. He's gonna be sad…"

"It's alright, Bobby," Frances told him soothingly, stroking his hair. "You'll get another one someday."

They all knew_ that_ wasn't going to happen for a while, and Frankie suddenly said, "I hate him!"

Frances and Bobby both looked at him, and still in his defiant mood, he continued, "I hate him. He's always doing stuff like this! He's always drinkin' and being mean!" When no one said anything he continued, "And we never have any money. For anything!" He got up and ran to his room.

Frances went after him to comfort him, and Bobby put the broken pieces of his radio in the trash. He was mad at his dad, too, but unlike Frankie he didn't hate him. Just the opposite. Even if Frank was mean, he was still his father, and Bobby idolized him, and still craved his attention in any way. He didn't understand his father, though, or why he was sometimes so mean to him. It would be some forty years before Bobby would know the reason.

0o0

A few weeks later school was out. Bobby was ecstatic; he didn't like school very much, seemed to always be in trouble. And soon baseball would begin. The age requirements stated that every boy had to be seven years of age by the end of August. Bobby would be seven on August 20th, so he just slid in under the wire. And to his great delight, so did his best friend Lewis.

Both boys were really into baseball, even though Lewis wasn't near the athlete Bobby was. Bobby played ball in some way almost every day, even if it was just throwing the ball high in the air and catching it. The only problem was his glove, or lack of glove. He tried to use Frankie's, but Frankie was right-handed, and Bobby left-handed. He managed the best he could with it, but it was all backwards trying to put a right-handers glove (which goes on the left hand) on his right hand so he could still throw. It was a problem. And with Frank's incessant gambling, there was no way his parents could buy him one, even if they were so disposed.

Lewis watched him one day and laughed. "You really stink with that glove!" He said it as a joke, but Bobby got serious.

"I know! Lewis, they won't let me play if I don't have a glove. Where am I gonna do?"

Just then Frankie and some of his buddies came riding up on their bikes.

"Gee Frankie, your little brother really does stink!" one of them said, making fun.

"No he doesn't!" Lewis defended his friend. "It's the glove!"

"Who asked you, Four Eyes?" another one said to Lewis. "You stink even worse, and you got a good glove!" The older kids laughed. This was typical of most kids, the big kids making fun of the younger ones. Bobby and Lewis were used to it, but that didn't mean they liked it.

Bobby was starting to defend Lewis, when Frankie broke it up, an ulterior motive in mind. "Leave 'em alone," he told his friends. "I gotta teach my brother something, so I'll see you guys later, okay?"

His friends laughed and left, thinking Frankie was going to teach Bobby something like how to talk when your lip's all busted. But Frankie had different plans.

"Hey, Bobby, I'll make a deal with you," he offered.

Bobby was leery, usually these deals always worked in Frankie's favor.

"What?" he asked tentatively.

"It's real simple," Frankie explained. "I know a guy who's got a glove like you need, and I'll get it from him if you do all my work for the whole month."

Bobby's eyes lit up. A lefty glove! And all he had to do was all Frankie's chores for a month. Frankie actually hated doing any work, and normally Bobby didn't mind, so this sounded like a good deal to him.

"Okay," he agreed, and Frankie was off.

Lewis looked at him. "Better be kerful."

But Bobby was too happy to be worried about anything.

0o0

Later that evening, Frankie came into their room after sneaking in past Frank and Frances.

He tossed the glove to Bobby, who stared at it in wonder. It was really just a beat up old glove, with hardly any padding and some of the leather laces gone. But it was a lefty glove, and it would keep Bobby on the team. Bobby was so impressed with his brother's resourcefulness he could hardly speak.

"It's all yours," Frankie said smugly. "Just remember, you gotta do my work the whole summer."

"You said just a month!"

Frankie made a grab for the glove, which Bobby neatly side-stepped.

"You want the glove or not?" Frankie demanded.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "Okay."

"Okay, there's one thing—you can't let Mom or Dad see it. They'll want to know where it came from. And my buddy ain't supposed to give his stuff away."

"Okay," Bobby said, just excited to have the glove. He had no idea that Frankie had stolen it from another kid.

0o0

Before long, Bobby and Lewis had both made it to the same team. They practiced a lot together, and when he was bored, sometimes Frankie even joined in. Frankie made fun of them and said they were both pretty bad, especially Lewis, but the truth was, the whole team was made up of seven and eight year olds, most of whom were just learning to play. Given that Bobby still had not reached his seventh birthday, and had learned some things from Grampa, he wasn't bad at all, and in fact was one of the better players on the team. Frankie recognized that, but was not about to tell Bobby that. Lewis was not so good, and the coach found it difficult to let Lewis play a whole game. As long as he got a little playing time, though, Lewis would be satisfied.

Bobby would have been happy to leave things in his life now just as they were; but unfortunately, things were changing, at least with his mom. And it wasn't for the better. The little strange things she was doing sporadically were now happening just a little more often.

One morning, Bobby woke up to find his mother standing at the front door. All the lights were out again and the curtains were all shut, making it somewhat dark. She had her ear to the door, listening. Bobby walked up behind her.

"What 'cha doing, Mom?"

Startled, Frances spun around in a panic, looking around, and grabbed Bobby by the shoulders. "Be quiet!" she hissed at him. Bobby looked confused, and attempted to pull away, but she only gripped him tighter.

"Don't you hear them?" she demanded, still in that low voice. "They're here, somewhere in this house."

Now Bobby looked around, suddenly afraid. "Let's go, Mommy!" he said, trying to get her to the door again to get out.

"We can't! They're out there, too!" She was visibly shaking, and Bobby had never been so scared in his life.

"Who, Mommy? Who are they? Call Daddy!"

Frances spun around again, causing Bobby to do the same. "They're out there! In the kitchen!" She grabbed Bobby again, and shoved him back to his room, pushing them both inside. "Get under the bed! Now!"

Bobby slid quickly under the bed. He had no idea what was going on, and was terrified. "Mommy?" he whispered.

"Shhh!!" Frances hushed him. "You stay there, under the bed. You'll be safe. I'm going to find your brother."

"NO!! Mommy, don't—" But the bedroom door slammed, and Bobby could hear her footsteps fading. "MOMMY!!" he screamed. No one answered him, and Bobby lay there under the bed in the dark, trembling, for a very long time. Finally, emotionally exhausted, he fell asleep.

0o0

Hours later, Bobby awoke. He lay there for a while, listening. The only thing that he could hear was the tv. He pulled himself out slowly from under the bed, still listening. He went to the door, a little shaky, and pulled it open just slightly, as quietly as he could. He could see or hear nothing other than the tv. So he walked out into the living room to find his mother sitting on the couch, watching a soap. He ran over to her, and hugged her ferociously.

Frances pulled away a little, slightly irritated. "What do you want, Bobby?"

"Ma, where are they?" he whispered. "Are they gone?"

"Are who gone?"

"I… I don't know. You said they were here."

Frances felt his forehead. "I think you have a little fever, Bobby. Go get some of those aspirin in the kitchen, and go lie down again."

"Okay," he said, but he didn't go into the kitchen. He went outside and sat on the steps, just thinking. He was one very mixed up little boy.

0o0

The summer continued. Frances acted strangely at times, which was starting to be noticed. But since it was so sporadic no one really paid too much attention.

Bobby and Lewis continued playing ball, Lewis' mother usually taking them to the practices, and his parents never missed a game. Bobby was a little jealous, but he never really thought his parents would come, anyway. He was already numb to that fact.

But one evening, much to Bobby's surprise, Grampa and Gramma showed up at his game. Bobby hugged them both and much to Bobby's embarrassment (secretly he loved it) Gramma kissed him, and pushed his hair up under his ballcap. And Grampa took the cap off, tousled Bobby's curls, and put the cap back on backwards. Then Grampa told him, "Go get 'em, Lefty!" Lewis and his parents were elated for Bobby, and Bobby played his best game ever, despite his old worn out glove. His grandparents, both big baseball fans, were extremely proud of him. And not just because of baseball.

After the game, Bobby's grandparents took him home, and stopped in. They bragged hugely on Bobby's prowess in baseball in general, and about his actions in this game in particular. Frank pretended not to hear, but was glad that the kid at least didn't screw it up.

A while later, Rose and Frances were in the kitchen, making coffee, and Rose asked about Bobby's upcoming birthday.

"We really hadn't planned much of anything yet. Frank… uh, is out of work." (Translation=lost again at the track)

"Frances! It's his seventh birthday!"

"Well, we're not like you and Dad! We can't manufacture money, you know."

Rose was a little angry. "We didn't manufacture money, either, Frances. The only difference between us is that your father got a decent job and didn't squander our money! And you don't need a lot of money to make a cake!"

Eventually it was decided that Rose would make the cake, and Frances would buy some ice cream, and they would invite a few children from Bobby's class at school and his ball team. Including Lewis, of course.

0o0

The day of the party was a huge success. Guests included Gramma and Grampa, Lewis and his parents, the baseball coach and his son, a few neighbors and the aforementioned classmates and team members. About ten kids and a few parents. And Frances and Frankie. Frank decided this was a good day to do something… anything.

Everybody was having a great time. Rose's cake was fantastic, the kids played games, and at last it was time for the presents.

Bobby was very excited, he hadn't had a party like this in years. He got the usual presents, toys from his friends, books from his parents, and Lewis' family got him a Jerry Koosman autographed baseball, and a new everyday ball cap. And Gramma and Grampa got him a new Rawlings lefthanded baseball glove (with padding and leather laces!) and a brand new little transistor radio, much nicer than the original. Even Frankie had managed to come up with some new packs of baseball cards. Bobby had never been so happy. The only thing missing was his dad.

tbc


	20. Chapter 20

The Way It Was Chapter 20

The summer Bobby turned seven was crazy, in more ways than one. Bobby had reached the age of reason; a few things were becoming much clearer. Some things he really didn't want to understand, sometimes ignorance really is bliss. Like his parents' preference for his older brother Frankie. When he was younger he didn't realize that his brother was the favorite. Now he did, and it hurt. He understood now that he would never be number one with his parents. _Or with anyone. _It was a lesson he learned early in life, and one he would never forget.

The other thing he was starting to realize was that his mom was different from the other moms. Although Frances wasn't bad yet at all, she was starting to display some of the early signs of schizophrenia. And Bobby was noticing. He knew that things weren't as they should be, some were small things, but others were a lot more noticeable. It placed a burden on his young mind, he was already troubled. But mostly he just didn't understand why his mother was so different.

Then of course there was the frightening part of it all. Sometimes he was terrified she was going to hurt him in some way, sometimes things got really scary. But the worst thing of all though, was the uncertainty of it. He never knew from one day to the next what to expect. So at the tender age of seven, Bobby was already hyper-vigilant.

##########

On the plus side, though, was his life away from home. As if to make up for their daughter and son-in-law's neglect, Gramma and Grampa starting coming over a little more, seeing to the the boys. Given their age, it was a bit hard on them. But Rose and Joseph had noticed how strange Frances had been behaving, and made an extra effort to take the boys, thinking it would take a little strain off her. And would possibly keep the boys out of trouble.

They made a point of attending Bobby's ballgames. The ball team was doing great, thanks in large part to "Lefty" Goren. Bobby was a great all-around player, considering he was so young—a good pitcher who could field his position, and could really hit the ball. And Gramma and Grampa came and cheered him on. Once they even talked Mom and Dad and Frankie into coming.

At one point in the game, while waiting his turn to bat, Bobby looked into the bleachers and saw all his family there. Frankie sat with Grampa and was actually watching the game. Mom was sitting near Gramma, and acting kind of right, Dad was sitting there looking around (checking out the other mothers), cheering half-heartedly at all the right times. But Frank accepted all the kudos due the father of the kid who later hit in the winning run. All Bobby knew was that his family was there, for him, and for the first time in a long while he felt like a normal kid with a normal family. And when they all went out for ice cream later it was the icing on the cake. It was one of the best days of Bobby's young life.

########

Bobby and Lewis, who was also on the team, had become even closer as friends; they were practically inseparable. They'd been together since they were four, as long as either could remember. They'd done everything together, played together, went to school together, got in trouble together. Right now they were working on Bobby's old bike, the one they'd found in someone's trash. It needed a lot of work, but the boys were up for it. Then it happened again.

"Bobby! You come in this house right now!" His mother was calling him, and Bobby looked up from the bike

"What, Ma?" he asked, then turned his attention back to the bike.

He and Lewis had managed to completely dismantle the entire bike, and were in the process of putting it all back together. It was a very intricate affair; the boys were enjoying it immensely and neither wanted to stop. Bobby was a very smart little boy, and curiosity burned within him. He had to know what made things tick. Lewis was mechanically minded, and just had a built-in impulse to take things apart and put them back together.

"Get in here, Bobby, before you get soaked!"

Now Lewis looked at his friend in confusion. "What'd she say?"

"I don't know." Lately Bobby didn't quite 'get' his mom all the time.

Moments later Frances was by his side, pulling him up. "What's wrong with you, Bobby?" she said, very agitated. "Can't you see it's going to rain? You haven't got the sense God gave a flea! You, either!" she told Lewis.

Both boys looked up to the cloudless sky, and Bobby pulled his always-present ball cap around to shield his eyes. Lewis used his hand.

"Mom, it ain't even raining. Look, see? There's the sun."

"Don't you argue with me! That's exactly what _they_ want you to think!" She gave Bobby a brown grocery bag, and pushed Lewis close to him. "Cover up!" Frances shoved them both in the direction of the house.

"Mom! My bike…" Bobby tried to turn back, but she was having none of it. She continued to steer them to the house.

"Look, it's lightening. If you go near that bike, you'll be electrocuted! Get in the house. Now!"

The boys went into the house, followed by Frances. Lewis looked at Bobby, then whispered, "Your mom is kookie."

Bobby frowned. "No, she's not. She's just playin' with us." He was getting good at this lying thing.

"Well, I don't like this game!" Lewis whispered loudly.

"Shhh! She'll hear you!"

But Frances went into the kitchen and busied herself.

"In a little bit, she'll forget," Bobby explained to his friend, "and we can go outside again." With that he turned on the tv, and he and Lewis sat down to watch some afternoon kid shows. They watched "Popeye", then Lewis announced, "My muscle's bigger n' yours!" He held up his arm, showing off his muscle.

Bobby looked, then pushed up his sleeve and showed his own. "Uh unh, mine's the biggest!"

"I eat lots a'spinach!" Lewis said. "Just like Popeye. Mom makes me eat it all the time," he added a little sadly. "And I don't like it. It's yucky!"

"_I_ can eat anything I want," Bobby declared. "My mom doesn't care." In fact meals at the Goren home were very erratic. Sometimes, for whatever reason, Mommy had to be reminded to make dinner. Unless Daddy was here, and then he made sure she made dinner. "I got big muscles, and I don't eat _any _spinach!"

Frances came back into the living room, and just sat on the couch staring at the two boys. The boys got real quiet, and continued to watch the tv. Lewis was a little nervous.

"Can we go back out now?" Lewis whispered to Bobby. Bobby looked at his mom, who appeared not to even see them.

"Yeah, let's go." Bobby led the way, walking slowly and quietly so as to not catch his mother's attention.

It didn't work. Just as they were heading out the door, Frances stopped them. "What did you tell them?" she demanded.

Bobby looked up at her. "Huh?"

She held him by the shoulders. "I asked you, what did you tell them? And where did they go?" She was beginning to sound frantic, and shook him. "I know you know!" She slapped him, and without letting him go she turned to Lewis and made a grab for him, but he scooted out of the way.

Bobby had no idea what was going on, and Lewis, standing back a bit, just stared.

Frances got in Bobby's face. "Bobby, you don't understand, I _have _to know what they are saying! Now tell me!"

"Who, Mommy?" Bobby asked. He looked up at her, his dark eyes full of uncertainly, and very close to tears.

"You know who!" She was getting angry now, and started to shove Bobby back further into the house.

"Bobby…?" Lewis said. He wanted out of there, now.

Just then Frankie and a buddy came in the door. He looked on interestedly for a moment, and then went to his mother.

"Mom," he said, trying to get her attention. She didn't even notice him.

"Ma!" he said loudly, yanking her arm. Frances finally looked at him, and at that second, taking advantage of the distraction, Bobby managed to break free.

"What?" she demanded, somewhat disoriented now. "What do you want Frankie?"

"Will you make me and Tony some lunch?"

"What…yes, yes…of course." She turned to Lewis. "Do you want some lunch?"

Lewis looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "No! I wanna go home now." He ran out the door. Bobby followed him, catching up in just a moment. At the corner they both stopped, and Bobby looked back, relieved to see his mother hadn't followed.

They both sat down on the curb. Lewis still looked frightened, and Bobby was pretty down. He was embarrassed that his mother slapped him in front of Lewis, and frightened once again. He truly didn't know what to expect from his mother anymore.

"Does it hurt?" Lewis asked, pointing to the bright red handprint on Bobby's cheek. Lewis had never been slapped that hard by his mother, ever. He'd never been slapped at all.

"No," Bobby lied again.

"I don't like your mom no more," Lewis decided. "She really is kookie. Just like Thomas said."

Bobby looked at his friend. He felt like he'd been hit in the gut.

# # # # # # # #

One evening, after talking on the phone, Rose put the receiver down and walked a little dejectedly over to Joseph, and sat down.

Joseph looked at her expectantly, and Rose said, "That was Frank."

"And?" Joseph prompted.

"He said she's getting worse."

Joseph sighed. They both had prayed that Frances would not inherit the problem that Rose's sister had. For a long time they never knew what was wrong with her, it was just a few years ago they found out it had a name—schizophrenia.

Rose felt the tears welling up in her eyes. "She's acting just like Emma. Joseph…"

Joseph got up and went to her, putting his arms around her. "If she does have it, we'll just have to do the best we can for her."

Rose nodded. "He wants me to take her to the doctor's—a 'head' doctor, he said."

Joseph thought for a minute. "Well, make the appointment. After that, we'll know more. And if it turns out badly…well, I'll talk to the boys."

_The boys_… should it turn out badly…. with Frances sick, and their father gone all the time, what kind of life were they going to have?

tbc


	21. Chapter 21

The Way It Was Chapter 21

The news was not good. After the very first visit to the psychiatrist, the doctor diagnosed Frances as schizophrenic. Everyone else seemed to agree. Everyone except for Frances. Frances refused to believe anything was wrong, and insisted on a second, then a third opinion. Ultimately they all came to the same conclusion. Still she refused to believe.

The fact that the illness was incurable left them all in a tough situation; there was nothing the doctors could do except send her home with a prescription and a list of some cautions and things to watch for. Along with instructions on what to do should the problem escalate. Frank was angry, he had been hoping for more. Having a wife with an incurable disease was unthinkable, for any number of reasons. The appointments with all the doctors were a complete waste as far as he was concerned, a fiasco. What good did it do to find out what she had if it couldn't be fixed, if she was never going to get any better? He seriously doubted the damn pills would do any good, either.

For Rose and Joseph, one of the hardest things they had to do was tell Frances' two young sons, ten year old Frank and seven year old Bobby, about their mother's incurable illness. They didn't want to scare the boys, but they wanted to prepare them. But no matter how much they tried, they could never really prepare them for what was to come.

The next afternoon, while Frank stayed with Frances, Joseph and Rose picked the boys up and took them to the park. Both immediately started to run off and play when Joseph stopped them.

"Frankie! Bobby! Whoa, get back here!" The boys pulled up short, and turned back to Grampa.

"What, Grampa?" Frankie asked. Grampa had bought each of them a little boat, and they were anxious to put them in the little stream, especially Bobby, who'd never had a real wooden little boat before.

"We need to talk to you," Grampa explained. "Then you can play for awhile, if you want."

"But Grampa—" Bobby started.

"Bobby," Grampa said sternly, "_**now."**_ Reluctantly the boys came back to their grandparents, frowning a bit.

Grampa and Gramma were sitting on a bench, and each pulled one of the boys onto their lap. The boys waited expectantly. Grampa took a deep breath, and started.

"Frankie… Bobby, we have to tell you something about your mother." He paused. "You know how your mom has been acting kind of…funny lately?"

"Yeah," Frankie said, waiting for more.

"Mommy hits me sometimes," Bobby offered. "For not doing nothin!" Rose hugged him a little tighter, feeling horrible for her little grandson. "And she scares me alla time."

"She does," Frankie agreed, "me, too. And sometimes she says really crazy stuff."

It was all Rose could do not to cry. "Boys, your mother can't help it. She's sick…"

"She's not coughing or nothin," Bobby said, a puzzled look on his face.

"It's not that kind of sickness, honey," Gramma said, and even Frankie looked confused.

"What kind is it, Gramma?" he asked.

"It's like… when your mind or your brain is sick. It's called Schizophrenia."

"Huh?" the boys said together. It was hard just to _say_ the word, let alone understand it.

"Schi—Schiz—" Bobby tried .

"Schizophrenia," Grampa repeated the word, enunciating it. "Your momma's brain is very sick. It makes her do and say… crazy things." Joseph hated using that word, but he had to make them understand. "She can't help it. Her brain isn't working right."

"When will she get better?" Frankie asked.

"I don't think she ever will. This is a sickness that the doctors don't know how to fix. She may very well be like this for the rest of her life."

Tears sprung to Bobby's eyes. "Is Mommy gonna die?"

"No, baby, your momma's not gonna die," Rose said. "Just her brain isn't going to work right any more."

Gramma and Grampa assured the boys that they would do everything in their power to help them through this. If things ever got too bad, they were to call them. Despite this, the most horrible feeling of dread came over Bobby, and the tears overflowed.

"Quit being a baby!" Frankie said angrily.

"Frankie, it's okay," Grampa said soothingly. "Your brother just doesn't understand."

"Or maybe he does," Rose offered. "Maybe he's really the only one who does."

xxxx

Frances never believed she had a problem, she saw no reason to take the pills she was given. And she made no secret of it, defiantly throwing her pills in the trash or down the drain, in front of everyone.

Frank was pissed, not only was it a big waste of money having her go to the doctor for something that couldn't even be cured, she was wasting the pills he was spending good money on, money that could be put to much better use. Like at the track. At the track there was at least the chance of a return on his investment. When she would throw the pills away, he would storm out angrily; sometimes he'd be gone overnight and well into the next day, leaving the boys at the mercy of their sick mother. And not caring. As long as they were in the care of their mother, no one could come back and say the kids were abandoned or neglected. The fact that they were worse off being alone with their mother than actually being alone by themselves was something that Frank either didn't realize, or chose to ignore.

xxx

As the weeks went by, Frances had, for the most part, stopped socializing with her friends, figuring they, too, were all against her in this plot to convince her she had this disease, that everyone wanted to see her committed. So she stayed in the house a lot, avoiding other people. She was making a few little discoveries, and finding out now that a lot of things that formerly served a useful purpose, like the radio, were actually instruments "they" used to communicate with her.

Bobby and Frankie had both grown wary of their mother. It was a terrible feeling for them, to be afraid of their own mother. Joseph and Rose took to sheltering them from the effects of their mother (and father), but they could only do so much. A few times when Frank was gone (which was often), Rose would come to stay with Frances while Joseph took the boys out. Although it didn't happen very often, it was something that Bobby had come to love.

xxx

Bobby awoke one morning to find Frankie already up and gone. Already he knew that meant a bad day, and that he'd have to be alone with Ma himself. He got up and quickly dressed, then went to the kitchen to fix some breakfast, climbing on the counter and pulling down a box of cereal—yay!--sugar frosted flakes, his favorite. Frankie liked them, too, and usually tried to hide them in the back of the cabinet, but Bobby was on to him. Then he got the milk and poured it over his cereal. Through necessity, at the tender age of seven (and actually well before that), Bobby was already self-sufficient, and had learned to take care of himself and his own needs. It was a means of survival.

He sat in his chair reading the back of the cereal box as he ate his cereal. There was supposed to be a toy in the box, but he was sure that was gone already. Even if Frankie didn't want the toy he'd take it, and hold it over his little brother to get something else he wanted from Bobby in exchange for the toy. But he looked anyway, on the slim chance that Frankie forgot or something, dumping all the cereal into a big bowl. Although he knew it would be gone, he was still disappointed.

Right at that moment, his mother came into the kitchen. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Besides making another mess for me to clean up!"

Bobby jumped, he hadn't heard her come in. "Nothin'."

"No? What do you call that?" She pointed to the big bowl of cereal, then slapped it off the table. It went crashing to the floor, breaking into pieces, and everything scattered all over.

"Now look what you've done!" she screamed.

"I didn't—" Bobby started, as Frances made a grab for him. He ducked out of the way, and stayed out of her reach, knowing he was okay as long as she couldn't get to him.

"I'll clean it up, Ma! I'm sorry!"

Frances narrowed her eyes at him, not believing him for a second. She looked for a way to cut him off, but Bobby was sharp, and evaded her, frustrating her even more. "You come here right now!"

Desperate now, Bobby said, "Ma, did you take your pill? They're right there." He pointed to the counter. _Please take your pill, Ma! Please! _

"**What did you say?!"** she screamed at him. Then she stopped; she knew. Bobby was in on the plot. He was one of "them."

Frances watched him, knowing Bobby was smart. Well, she was cagey, too, and nodded, pretending it was okay. When Bobby seemed to relax a little, she lunged again, and almost caught him, grabbing a part of his shirt. He twisted himself and somehow got away again. He knew she wasn't going to give up. So he maneuvered himself to the back door, then took off. Frances was furious, screaming after him.

Bobby ran all the way to the park, till he knew he was safe. He ran so fast and so far he ran out of breath. He stood there for a few minutes, breathing hard. Finally he was able to breathe again. "Damn!" he gasped, mimicking the words of his father and brother.

That feeling of dread came over him again. Everything was wrong. His mother, whom he dearly loved, would never, ever, get better. And his mommy would never be like the other mommies. Why did things always have to be different for him? For his family? He felt like crying again, but he didn't. He determined that he would never cry ever again. He was seven now, he had to be big. He thought of his mother and her pills, and her new illness. She needed to be taken care of, to make sure she took her pills all the time and with other things she needed. 

Bobby had to take care of her.

The thought that someone should be taking care of him never entered his mind.

The End 

This story will be divided into three separate stories, the first obviously from before Bobby's birth until Frances was officially diagnosed with Schizophrenia. The second story will deal with life from that point until Bobby's father leaves, and the third will deal with the time directly after that.

Thank you so much for reading!


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